Devils in the Windy City
by russianspy
Summary: AU. Elijah travels to Chicago, led by a vague prophecy about a girl who could be the Mikaelson family's salvation. Klaus soon confronts him, and later Rebekah is drawn into another case of family drama. However, this trip to the Windy City turns out to be longer than a short stint. The Mikaelsons discover that their lives may change forever. Including every other vampire's.
1. A Message from Beyond

_**Feb 2019_

 _This story is being resumed and current chapters re-edited! Please enjoy!_

 _I've seen Legacies, and I miss the Mikaelsons, including this story of mine. It may not have as much attention as my American Horror Story one-Last Resort-but my heart is here more, and so Last Resort is on indefinite hiatus._

 _Kudoses are appreciated, so are bookmarks, and comments are gold! Just so that I know people are reading!_

 _Nevertheless, I'll try to continue because I miss Elijah and Klaus, my two favorite dysfunctional brothers. Sam and Dean who? Pfffft._

 _A/N: For new and old readers: Imagine that everything in Vampire Diaries happened. This is in place of the Originals. Headcannoning some things, including Marcel's backstory, including Davina's involvement because I do very much like them. No one else from the Originals will appear_.

* * *

He had not returned to Chicago in quite some time. The city didn't hold as much importance as New Orleans, a city which his family had practically built, but Chicago was a place that Elijah Mikaelson certainly enjoyed. He truly saw, for the first time in his long life, how special it was in the year 1893. And like many who had flocked to the city then, he saw how, like a phoenix, Chicago had risen from the ashes after the Great Fire had destroyed much of it just 22 years before.

There was an almost tangible "Chicago spirit," which Elijah felt when he and Rebekah had arrived. 1893 was the year of the Chicago World's Fair. He had never experienced such a thing with New Orleans—perhaps because the southern city's own soul never truly welcomed the Original family.

The World's Fair was held in celebration of the 400th anniversary of Christopher Columbus' arrival in the New World. It was probably one of the most memorable events in Elijah's long life. It was hard not to let years fly by, the decades, too. Some centuries moved far faster than others. And more often than not, he'd been busy chasing after his younger brother, Niklaus, trying to yank him back onto the correct path. Or, Elijah was busy just trying to keep his family together in general.

Rebekah had woken up a little over five years earlier. She'd been in her coffin for 52 years, and to say that she was furious with Klaus was an understatement. Which is why Elijah had swooped in to reintegrate her into society himself. The early 19th century was very different than the latter part. There were too many advances to count—in fields like science and art.

And so, in order for her to help keep her mind off of their brother and Marcel, the man whom Rebekah wasn't going to get over any time soon, Elijah stuck by his fair sister's side quite closely. Five years went by more like five days, and wanting to change their scenery, Elijah took his sister north to Chicago.

The Fair was a welcome distraction. Among new inventions like the long-distance telephone, which had transmitted the sounds of a live orchestra all the way from New York City; to things that might seem unimportant now, like the first zipper, or that gum called Juicy Fruit, and that beer, which had won the exposition's top beer award—none other than Pabst Blue Ribbon.

Silly little marvels like the locomotive made of spooled silk, the suspension bridge built out of Kirk's Soap, and the giant map of the United States made of pickles helped improve Rebekah's mood. Besides the Fair, she and her brother even had a chance to visit the hotel, which was later dubbed "Murder Castle," and mess with America's first serial killer—certainly a one of a kind experience.

Since 1893, Elijah had been back to Chicago a few times but never for a prolonged stay. He hadn't had a reason to. Now, present day, he did, and he was in search of a girl.

When he found her, he didn't make himself known immediately. That was _not_ how he did things. He thought his decisions through, step by step, never simply rushed in, not like Niklaus did. The original hybrid had no idea that his older brother was in the Windy City—and it was going to stay that way. For now, at least. This was very important.

This girl was apparently important. _How_ exactly? Elijah had no idea. _Why_? That too was unknown. And if her importance held any truth behind it? That was uncertain as well, for the person who had told him of this girl was the young, up and coming psychic named Benjamin Henry.

Until a little over a week ago, Elijah had no idea who the kid was. He didn't watch TV. It was the one human invention that had never interested him. Books had always been the type of entertainment he preferred. So Elijah definitely had no idea of the show "Tinseltown Medium," which aired on _E!_.

Benjamin had called Elijah in the middle of the night on a cell phone that the vampire kept reserved only for callers who were close to him, such as his siblings, or the few people who were probably considered his friends.

So, it was strange that this _boy_ had called Elijah. But even crazier was the fact that Benjamin claimed a ghost had given him Elijah's number and had insisted that the young psychic call this Mr. Mikaelson. As soon as possible.

So Benjamin didn't dillydally.

This hadn't happened to him before.

The legend of the Mikaelsons, the first vampires, particularly Klaus, never passed by Benny's innocent ears. He had had his gift since he was quite small, and he'd always known that there was a dark side to the supernatural world, but he never tried finding it. Benny kept to the light, to the great Spirit, and strove to do good, to help people.

As worried as he was, that's the only thing he sought to do. To deliver a message to this "Elijah."

 _###_

The boy lived in a nice condo with his mother in West Hollywood, Los Angeles. The success of his show was slowly propelling him upward within the industry. He was still a deer in headlights, green as they came, awed by every gift basket and every perk that included free clothes and free passes to that party or that movie premiere.

But Benny _was_ the real deal, despite rumors and conspiracy videos on YouTube about how he might've been a fraud.

He'd given readings to none other than the Kardashians and to other famous names, such as Carmen Electra, Matt Lauer, Chad Michael Murray, Meghan Fox, Kristin Cavallari—the list went on.

He knew that there were a lot of people who thought that his show's episodes were craftily edited, but the kid had a _legit_ sight. It was just that Benny wasn't yet a master of honing his spirit-sensing antenna.

One critic called the kid a "grief vampire." So, it was going to be ironic when later Benny would find out that the spirit, which had woken him up in the middle of the night, had him call an _actual_ vampire.

The best place to meet someone in L.A., someone that you've never met before, was at a coffee shop, a public place. Cafes were a go-to. It made Benny feel marginally more relaxed as opposed to meeting somewhere like a park, or some other place that would have had fewer people. This Elijah guy—who had caught an immediate flight from somewhere else—thankfully hadn't insisted on any other meeting spot.

The boy sat outside on the bustling patio of the Urth Caffé, which was on Melrose. He always sat outside, anyway, and he figured that today it was a good place to bolt from if he had to. No doors that would he'd need to shove his way through.

With black Raybans on, his light red hair catching a ray of sun that slipped past the edge of the green umbrella overhead, Benny waited, his hand around his cold taro smoothie. He couldn't get himself to drink it. His stomach was doing flips. His freckled face was sweating.

His mother had driven him there, and he told her he was meeting a client, a non-celebrity client but an important one. Although his mother was his manager and knew of every appointment he had, insisting that he was going to meet said client there at the cafe was enough for his mother to trust him and drive off, promising to be back whenever he called her.

Benny was a naturally nervous boy, still working on the calm confidence that was expected out of most psychics, but this wasn't a normal client meeting. Ghosts didn't contact him by themselves regularly, especially not about random people across the country. Yet because he knew his ability was true, he knew that this was real. Elijah Mikaelson didn't have any social media, but that didn't mean ghosts usually pranked Benny either.

" _Hello_."

He heard the voice behind him and jumped, gasping, a hand to his heart. The boy had been expecting to see Elijah come toward the front entrance of the cafe, off of the street, which the boy sat facing. Startled, he watched the man in the crisp, dark gray suit and dark red tie walk around the table to the chair opposite of him. Benny quickly took off his sunglasses and put them down.

He smiled wide in his nervousness and said, "Mr. Mikaelson?"

"Benjamin, I presume?" Elijah said smoothly, extending a hand. Benny took it with his own clammy one, received a brief squeeze, and then the man was sitting down.

Elijah might've been a producer, or a CEO, judging by his appearance. He wore designer from his shiny shoes to his glinting cufflinks. He would've fit right into Beverly Hills, that was for sure. Benny just wore a hip, plaid button-down and skinny jeans, and felt very underdressed.

He tried _so_ hard not to look jittery, but the smile on his pink face was strained. His hand immediately went back to his lap and his other held the taro drink tighter. "Call m-me Benny."

"Benny then," Elijah said. His face was unreadable, his dark eyes especially. "Call me Elijah, please." He was completely unaffected by the anxiety that emanated from the skinny boy. Judging by how he'd sounded on the phone, Elijah already had an idea of what to expect before he'd arrived.

Benny cleared his throat. "Do you want something to drink before—"

"No, thank you," Elijah answered coolly.

"O-OK." The boy finally let go of his smoothie and pushed it aside. The light purple contents were already melting, separating at the bottom of the plastic cup. The man never broke eye contact with him. "Were you, uh, in Chicago?"

"Chicago? No," Elijah said. He shifted slightly to lean forward, one hand, in a weak fist, on the round table. "Why don't you repeat what you told me on the phone? All of the details."

"I, uh—" Benny's blue eyes danced around, paranoid, but no one was paying attention to them.

Slim-bodied, fit actors and actresses gushed about auditions, or bitched about bad ones, over cold press juices; hipsters with handlebar mustaches raved about the new purple diesel strain of weed available in some dispensary, while eating veggie burgers; men, who were casually dressed as _the_ guys with Hollywood connections, bought lunch for green, pretty young girls, new to L.A. The reality was that these men were all talk, and the poor ladies had no idea.

"All right. S-so—" Benny lowered his gaze. Elijah hardly blinked. Benny couldn't look at him while he spoke. His tone was so quiet, he was practically whispering, but Elijah appeared to hear him despite the chatter and the noise from the busy street.

"I woke up in the middle of the night. And-and just did what I was asked to, uh, do—to call you."

"Was the spirit malevolent?" Elijah asked.

"Oh, no. No, no." Benny glanced up at him in a fraction of a second. "Just...persistent. So I couldn't go back to sleep. It gave, um, it gave me your number, I wrote it all down and told me to call you. And then it told me some stuff about your family so that you would believe me if you asked."

Elijah was silent and that prompted the boy to continue. Benny stared at one of the cross hatches in the surface of the table.

"Your younger sister, Rebekah. Your young—younger brother Nik—uh—Nikalus?"

"Niklaus," Elijah corrected.

"Right. Niklaus. And you have a couple of other siblings, but...the spirit said they weren't around... Um, they passed away?" He spoke quicker. The man didn't confirm this. Benny hurried on. "The spirit told me you're from Sweden or—I mean, Norway, and you guys have "been around a long time," or something. I don't know what that means." Another quick glance.

"Just go on," Elijah said. He was patient but didn't want to waste time.

"So, it said I had to call you and tell you something, but I had to tell you in person."

Elijah leaned an inch forward. "What is it?"

Benny instinctively leaned back. But then he was digging in the pocket of his jeans to pull out a piece of paper that was folded neatly several times.

As he unfolded it, the words rushed out of his mouth. "It told me that there was this person, this, uh, girl, I don't know if you know her, but she's in Chicago, and you should find her, because she's got something to do with your family, I don't know what exactly, only that she's, like, OK this is going to sound weird," Benny gestured with a hand, lowering his voice, as Elijah took the paper and looked down at it, "the spirit said that she's got to do with "your family's _salvation_ " or something?" Sounding unsure, Benny narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

The paper had scribbles that were barely legible—the message that Benny had written down:

 _Elizaveta Belova. Chicago. Salvation. Save—_ scratched— _help the Mikaelson family. Condition. Medical? Disease. Event?_

"Or something?" Elijah said, finally some sort of color entering his voice—that of minor exasperation. "That's it? That's all it said?"

"Yes, that's it," Benny insisted, his eyes jumping from the paper to Elijah's face, back and forth, swiftly.

The man started to scoff, and that prompted Benny further.

"Look, it doesn't work like...texting someone, or calling them. Most of the time I don't even get words. It's just feelings, or images. I don't think this spirit was…" A pause.

"What?" Elijah looked at him with such intensity that Benny raised his hands as if to shield his face.

Then he lowered his head to whisper again. "This...spirit was from another country. I'm pretty sure. And spoke in a language I don't understand, so I did my best...to interpret with what I was receiving. I am pretty sure that it said something...was wrong with your family like, uh, like, uh," Benny looked away, lowering his hands and gesturing to himself with a grimace, "like something _genetic_ , or something with your _blood_. I don't know. Maybe—"

"A health issue?" Elijah offered cryptically.

"Yes!" Benny answered. "That was the feeling I was getting. So, it said that this girl could help, or something. And that's all I got. So, if you want to find her, go ahead. The spirit wanted you to. I only got a name and a location, so that's all I can give you. I really hope this doesn't turn freakier than this already is."

Elijah looked down at the paper once more. It had the name, _Elizaveta Belova_ and _Chicago_ underlined several times, the pen strokes hard _._

"I've met many psychics in my life, but none as young as you, Benny," he drawled, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, his thoughts elsewhere.

Benny was silent for a moment, holding his breath. "I'm not going to, uh, charge you or anything. But if you...uh, want an actual session..."

There was a stirring from a table nearby. Elijah glanced in that direction and then he was standing up, cutting Benny off.

"I'll be in touch." He put the paper away inside his suit jacket. "Thank you. I would like you to not mention this to anyone, _Benjamin_. Unless you already have."

Sensing a warning, Benny waved his hands, looking up at him. "Nope. Nope. I swear. My mom just knows I'm with a client. I see clients all the time. Feel, uh, feel free to call me any time—"

"Oh my God, are you _Benjamin Henry_?" someone called to Benny's right. It was a woman, maybe a tourist, judging how un-L.A. she looked, dressed in an _I love Cali_ t-shirt. She was with three more people, one of them a man with a fanny pack.

"I saw you on TV!" another woman said.

"Uh, y—yeah!" Benny said, unable to recover from the distraction as the group flocked to him, clearly huge fans. It threw him off completely. "But, one second, I'm in the middle of a session with—with a client."

"Oh my God, I am so sorry," said the first woman.

"Wait, what client?" said the second.

Benny looked back at Elijah. Only the man was no longer there. The boy rose in his seat, quickly scanning the cafe's patrons, the people on the sidewalk, the other side of the street. The strange, suited man was nowhere in sight.

The boy couldn't help a chill that ran down his arms, in the form of gooseflesh, and he swallowed hard. He didn't pay attention to one of the women, who asked next: "Do you...think we could get an autograph?"

 _###_

Presently, Elijah was right across from _Adagio Teas_ , much like a stalker, but no one really noticed him, as he watched the girl inside the little shop. She wore an apron and tended to a few customers who were buying said tea. There were locals and tourists. Tourists who had the big pockets. There wasn't a moment of pause in business, not until the day started to wind down.

Elijah had dinner at an Italian place called _Osteria via Stato_ , on its front patio, across the street. The early spring breeze was a bit chilly, but he didn't mind at all, even though the waiter turned on the heat lamp for him.

There was nothing remarkable about the girl, not at first glance, anyway. She was just a girl, who was in her twenties, he hazarded a guess. His sister Rebekah was beautiful and fair. This girl had a different sort of prettiness—of course, she _was_ human. All vampires had a different quality, an unearthly one. Humans had a natural warmth to them because they were, well, alive.

Elizaveta appeared of his sister's height, maybe a bit shorter, had long, light brown hair, which was tied back in a half ponytail, and those slightly round, high cheeks that were a characteristic of eastern European women.

There were other particular features, but Elijah didn't have that great a look despite his superb vampire senses. Cars passed up and down State St, and by the time it neared 7 o'clock, when the shop would close, traffic was in full swing. Cars obscured his sight and honks muffled his hearing.

He watched until the sun started to go down. A homeless man or two meandered past and asked for change, and Elijah ignored them. It was a group of teenaged girls, who were whispering him—staring off like that, vacantly—who jarred him. He heard them quite clearly without having to look, annoyance slipping onto his pale, angular face, and he took it as his cue to finally get the check and make his way across.

The long building had other shops to either side, and Elijah vaguely remembered that the structure had been there in 1893. He was sure that it had shops then too. But instead of bulky cars that drove by now, it was horse-drawn carriages back then.

As much as he missed that old Chicago, he enjoyed the clean lines of the modern era. During the end of the 19th century, there was still gas-powered illumination and a perpetual smog throughout the city. Elijah remembered how the streetlamps made the smoke glow yellow at dusk. Now, there was an electric light bulb as he looked up at a lit lamp.

A jingle sounded upon his arrival.

There was a couple there, shopping for tea. The girl was helping them. An older lady, who was in her 50s, despite her bright attire, was seemingly searching in the stockroom in the back, the door wide open, while a few other customers waited on her to the other side of the shop.

"If you're looking for a gift, these are nice…" he heard the girl say, saw her leading the couple to a display stand that had different tins stacked, each with a different zodiac sign, which had a type of tea. "Do you know what sign your friend is?"

Elijah nonchalantly strode to the closest wall, left of the entrance, where neat packages of tea hung in rows, the orange labels reading _Black_ upon closer inspection. There were dozens upon dozens of black teas. The man busied himself with seeing all the types.

He was most definitely a tea drinker. He did enjoy black tea, but he usually stuck to one type that he brewed very dark, without sugar or milk, so the amount of flavored here ones was amusing. He sighed. _Oh, Americans._

Reaching for one called _Earl Grey Moonlight_ , he took it and inspected the label. Then, seeing a glass sample jar on a shelf above, he stepped closer and took it. Was he supposed to smell it? As he did so, after removing the lid and taking in notes of vanilla, he heard footsteps approaching.

"Can I help you find something?"

It was a rehearsed, neutral question, the female tone slightly husky, not high or too girlish. It had a mature sort of quality.

As Elijah set the jar down and turned, he smiled at the girl. "This one smells quite lovely," he said, lifting the package in his hand.

The way he said that caught her off guard briefly, and her brows, which were faintly arched, drew together. She had a somber expression on her face.

"Oh, that's one of my favorites," she said coolly, holding his gaze for a moment. Hers was equally dark, but not black. It was very dark brown.

His own eyes squinted the slightest, curiously, and that was when she looked away. He studied her for a split second, taking in other details. Her nose was long and slightly sharp and had the smallest of bumps. There was a faint accent in her voice, so faint that he was sure most people rarely noticed. But he wasn't most people. There was also a barely-there sheen of red in her hair, as the setting sun streamed past tall buildings and into the windows of the shop. She was cute.

Her name tag said _Liza_.

"I'd recommend the _Earl Grey Bravo_ , and the one with the lavender. If you like Earl Grey." She was stepping down the wall, pointing. "Are you looking for any kind in particular?" She paused and looked back at him.

Elijah's smile remained. He spoke with a warmth that came easily. He was a naturally charismatic, but in a way that Niklaus never was. He was a _gentleman_. "This is my first time here. So I have to see what you have to offer. There is a lot to choose from. Would you be so kind as to recommend more?"

The way he spoke stunned her again and this time her glance at him was quick and had her shyly looking down. She failed at suppressing a more natural smile and clasped her hands before her. Taking in a breath, she straightened, stretching her neck a tad, as if prepared to unleash a wealth of knowledge about tea.

"Do you like green tea?"

Elijah took in all of her reactions, her sudden timidity not going unnoticed by him. "Yes, I do," he answered cheerfully and looked around to see where said green tea was.

Liza took several more steps. "All our green tea is here," she said leading the way, gesturing.

Elijah paused, silent for a moment or two, while she waited patiently, hands still together in front of her apron. He had his eyes narrowed as he scanned the types. Meanwhile, other customers paid at the register. The door chimed as someone else walked into the store, the sound of the Windy City very loud for a moment. Then it dulled once again as the door closed.

"What do you think of this one, Liza?" Elijah chose one and held it toward her. " _Gyokuro_?"

Liza nodded, stammering only slightly, for it was very obvious to her that this guy was _not_ from around here. Employees all had name tags, but most who entered the shop hardly addressed her and her coworkers by their names, let alone sounded so polite. Unless of course a customer was complaining and wanted to report one of them to the GM— _then_ they used their names. Few ever displayed such manners.

Her physiognomy eased. Elijah knew that he was skilled at producing such an effect on people.

"Uh, _Gyokuro_ is Japanese. It's a really good one. It's actually not as harsh and grassy as you'd expect from a green tea," she said, adopting her matter-of-fact, professional tone, looking between him and the tea package. "It has a sweetness to it, and uh, it's quite soft. I like it."

"Then I'll take it," Elijah said at once.

Liza licked her lips and gave another nod. "Okay. Great. If you get three more, you can get another one free." She pointed to a sign that said this and took a step back. "And our Oolongs and Herbals are on the other side of the store."

"Please lead the way," he said and gestured wide with his other hand.

The girl quickly turned her back to him, mostly to hide her face, which her coworker saw. The older woman's own name tag read _Pam_. She saw the nicely-dressed man whom Liza was guiding, and raised her eyebrows, but Liza didn't acknowledge whatever look Pam was giving her. Liza steeled her own expression while Pam made an obvious face that said, _Geez look at that young male specimen._ Little did Pam know that Elijah was far from young.

He followed around the sample stations, and other displays of tins and packages on small, round tables. There were a few types of honey out, and several types of steeping tools. And mugs and tea sets galore. But he didn't need any of those things.

He saw how, simply by the way her shoulders straightened, Liza was once again solemn, which he found interesting, especially when she finally turned back around to show him the Oolongs. He saw that her previous smile was replaced by that same expression she'd first approached him with. She looked at him, her opinions hidden, for he was just a customer. She sold tea to countless people, after all. It made sense.

After he decided on more, including that free last one, he was led to the register and the girl rang him up. She'd been patient thus far, yet her stony expression slipped through to reveal how tired she was. It was in those deep, dark eyes of hers. It was probably a long day of being on her feet.

There was really nothing more that the vampire could do or say. Liza suspected nothing about him, not that he thought that she would. By the time he was leaving, she appeared a million miles away, looking up at the clock to the far wall, and didn't watch him go.

An hour later, around 8, Liza finally left. She had to do some tidying up of products and cleaning here and there. Elijah watched, pretending to intently check emails on his smartphone. Her co-worker closed the shop, they said goodbye to each other and went their separate ways. It was very close to dark by now. Headlights filled the street. There was still traffic, but not as bad as before.

Walking quickly, her old, leather messenger bag over her shoulder, Liza produced a pack of light green Marlborosand lit a cigarette as she moved. She followed the pedestrians before her and crossed the street. Going south down State Street, she was making her way to the Grand Street Red Line stop—the EL, as people called Chicago's subway.

Other citizens, heading home, exhausted, were going the same way. Businessmen and women; those who worked in retail and those in the service industry; college students, too. The air had grown chillier and Liza pulled up the zipper of her dark green leather jacket.

The smoke from her cigarette drifted away, behind her, and Elijah slowed to a stop in the small crowd as his nostrils flared from the smell. He wasn't a fan of smoking. And while it was none of his business, he was surprised that a young woman like her would have such a habit. She could've seen the man as she rounded the escalator that led underground but she didn't look up. As she moved quickly down the metal steps, she also had earbuds in her ears.

Elijah had to step aside as a random man rudely told him to get out of his way i. Elijah barely uttered an apology before the man trudged past. When the vampire looked back to the train entrance, the escalator, that girl was long gone.

But that was quite all right. He knew where she lived, and his way of getting around was far faster than that of the subway, especially in rush hour. So, one moment he was there, to the side of the passersby, and then he was gone in a blur that no one had noticed. Most of everyone's attention was riveted to the smart devices in their hands.


	2. Don't Fear the Reaper

There was a jingle of metal against plastic. A hand held out an old 7-Eleven slurpee cup. The fingers belonging to the hand needed a good scrub in running water, and there was dirt underneath the nails.

The old man who was hunching over had probably seen better days long ago, and that included his worn, tattered clothes. He made his way under the overpass from busy North Broadway. People who were on their way home or wherever else usually passed him by without a glance, but a few dropped whatever change they could find in their pockets, and he always muttered, "Thanks," and "God bless."

He came to a halt twenty feet away from the glass doors of the Bryn Mawr red line stop, under said overpass, and leaned against the brick wall behind him. A smoke break was in order. So, he put the slurpee cup under his armpit—there was already a good amount of coins inside, maybe three buck's worth—and rummaged in the oversized pockets of his cargo jacket, using his other hand.

Obviously, he had more money than _that_ , which he'd accumulated throughout the day, but he wasn't going to reveal it all if he wanted _more_. That was not how it was done. Had to show 'em far less than you actually had. A middle-aged man walked by and held out a dollar.

The bum said, like always, "Thanks. God bless," and, in addition, "You have a good night, sir." Then he pocketed the dollar, put a cigarette in his mouth, and prepared to light it with a bic lighter. Only no matter how many times he flicked it, it wouldn't light.

"Hey," he called out to a well-dressed businessman, who stood on the other side of the sidewalk. He looked like he was waiting. "Hey, man, you got a light?"

Cars passed by, honking.

"Hey, man!"

Elijah heard him. He just didn't realize that the homeless man was talking to _him_. He registered his presence when he heard the shuffling of feet, the jingling of coins, and the musty smell. He looked at the human as if he were an alien.

Then he blinked and saw the cigarette in his hand. The homeless man lifted it and said, "Got a lighter?"

The vampire shifted back slightly. Obviously not because he was afraid, but because the smell of a city street was _interesting_ enough. Elijah wasn't too keen on the new notes, which seemed to be of...general uncleanliness, coupled with the smell of alcohol and whatever else that he didn't want to fathom.

So, Elijah haughtily said, "No. I don't."

The bum deliberately stared at him, not believing him. Putting the cigarette behind his ear, he tilted his head of matted hair and regarded the fancy man. "Got any change then?"

Elijah's gaze darted past him impatiently, to the glass doors, before returning sharply to the begging man. Again. "No. I don't."

The bum's expression was blank. He didn't move.

"Bullshit, man," he said after a moment. Elijah's eyebrows rose. "A guy like you has extra change. Bet a guy like you doesn't even live in this neighborhood. You from the Gold Coast?"

Elijah glared at him now. "Come on, man—" The persistence in the homeless man's gaze stilled all of a sudden. He didn't blink, and Elijah narrowed his own eyes, compelling him.

"You will go now." And an annoyed afterthought, "You're quite lucky I am not my brother."

"Who?" the man uttered. His mouth gaped slightly like a fish. Hypnotized, his head cocked the other way.

"Run along."

Obediently, the homeless man took a step back. Elijah straightened the lapels of his suit jacket even though they didn't need fixing. He didn't watch as the beggar proceeded robotically down the sidewalk, out the other side of the overpass, and into the night.

Elijah had looked up as he felt a rumble in the distance, stirring the air, vibrating beneath his feet through the asphalt. He glanced down at the Patek Philippe on his wrist and said to himself, "On time actually." The watch read ten past nine. The train slowed to a screeching stop so that its passengers could get off and head downstairs to street level.

In 1893, there was no Starbucks on the corner of Bryn Mawr and Winthrop Avenues, and no 7-Eleven or the UPS store further down. No hole-in-the-wall Thai places, or trendy, hipster breakfast joints.

Before 18 _89_ , this neighborhood of Edgewater was known to be "the only electric lighted suburb adjacent to Chicago," and was a part of the Lake View Township. Mansions, belonging to the elite, lined the shorefront. Then after 1889, Edgewater became a part of Chicago and quickly rose to the status of being one of the most prestigious communities. So, the homeless man was wrong. Elijah _could've_ been part of this neighborhood, at least long ago.

During the year of the fair, he and his sister Rebekah were invited to this northern part of the city to attend a soiree, which was organized by none other than Marshall Field, who was perhaps the wealthiest man in the world in the 1890s. He was _the_ founder of Marshall Field and Company, the Chicago-based department stores. To say that Rebekah was ecstatic was an understatement, for she loved parties and shopping, but that's a story for later.

Now, Edgewater was gentrified, and many students and young people lived there, with or without children. Renting prices were reasonable enough, and it _was_ within walking distance of the beach. Parking was terrible, particularly in the summer, though that was name of the game in the city. Getting around town was what the El was there for.

The area off of the Bryn Mawr stop was generally safe, but at night, girls and young women usually used common sense so as not to walk alone, or if they did, they had to maintain constant vigilance. This was Chicago, after all.

The train started moving again. It was heading north toward its end stop, Howard. Loyola University was up ahead several blocks, and downtown glittered south in the night, the Loop seven miles away. The beach was just two streets over to the east.

A crowd pushed through those glass doors.

The train obscured Elijah's senses far more than automobiles ever could. He almost lost Liza for a moment, distracted by the grinding of metal that ground on his ears like nails on a chalkboard. He had moved behind one of the underpass's cracking columns so that she wouldn't see him. Then, as the noise from the tracks receded, he hurried out from under the bridge and deftly followed the girl, who'd already made it across Bryn Mawr, intent on turning left, which was north, onto Winthrop.

She was fast, not breaking her stride. The earbuds were still in, but her music was off. The set of her shoulders projected her instinctive caution. Even though she lit another cigarette, and Elijah caught whiffs of the smoke, he was glad to see that the girl was wary. She'd glanced back over her shoulder a few times, as she passed the breakfast place called _Nookies,_ and the residential part of the street began.

Elijah expertly hid in the shadows as he followed her. He had a little over a thousand years to perfect this. One could indeed call it stalking, but he wasn't a pervert tailing some girl, so he most certainly didn't consider this stalking. This was investigating.

But he knew that when he'd finally reveal himself to her, whenever the time was right, there was a great chance of her reaction not being a good one. This he'd have to handle whatever way he could. And this was another reason why Elijah was following the girl _alone_. Not with any of his siblings.

This block or two of Winthrop mostly had courtyard apartment buildings. There were also a few worker cottages, but there were more classic Chicago graystones, which were either two level or three. Some appeared to be remodeled. Others kept the iconic gray limestone.

Liza, in particular, lived in a two level one, which was right next door to a tall building that used to be a hotel in the '20s. Present day, it was a residential apartment building. Sure, it might've dwarfed Liza's graystone, but her home was very quaint. She lived on the second floor.

Most graystones were very similar. This one had its wide stone steps to the right, leading up to a shared porch, and a wide bow of projecting, round windows to the other side. The first-floor windows were shielded by a small pine tree. The second-floor bay windows were rounded as well, curtains wide open, the light on, and above the porch, there was a balcony, a nice feature that allowed an overlook of the street.

The small front "yard" was fenced in and grew some sort of plant that was supposed to be decorative. The metal gate swung shut behind the girl, and she jogged up the steps.

The lower level was home to an elderly couple who owned the graystone itself. _The Masked Singer_ was seen on the screen of an old television through the branches of pine. After Liza stepped inside into the small foyer, where her landlord's door was to the left of the stairs, she already heard the telltale sound of...paws upstairs.

On the second-floor landing, the door to that balcony above the porch was left again, and her own apartment door was directly ahead. The balcony was technically communal, but the old folks never went up there.

 _2B,_ read the metal characters directly above the peephole. The hanging little bell above the apartment number rang when Liza stepped inside her place. The sound of dancing paws grew only more furious with excitement. A roughly eighty-five-pound red Akita Inu assailed her with a half-destroyed teddy bear in his mouth.

A smile cracked across the girl's face, which was covered with a slight sheen of oil in the T-zone area, something that often happened when riding a subway car that was almost full to the brim with people. It might've been in the high fifties during the day, steadily cooling into the forties with the sunset, but subway trains perfectly insulated that cringeworthy BO.

"I'm tired, Ramsey," Liza said to her dog as she shut the door behind her. She hung her keys on one of the two hooks on the wall—on the other nail hung someone else's set—and gave the destroyed teddy bear a halfhearted tug before letting go.

The Akita's curled tail still wagged as he eagerly looked up at the human, his triangular, brown eyes hopeful. Liza shook her head and went past the canine.

Through the small foyer, in the parlor (or _living room_ as they called it nowadays) was a pile of shit in front of the bay windows. Liza sighed, seeing it, and walked further into the apartment. Judging by the lack of smell, Ramsey must've pooped earlier in the day when no one was home.

"Hey, Ollie," she said. There was another girl there.

This girl sat on the dark gray Ikea couch, which stood with its back to the front door. She was watching that show _Harlots_ that was on Hulu. Their television was a decently sized flat-screen, hanging on the wall directly in front of the cheap sectional. Before her, on the coffee table, which was _also_ from Ikea, was a large plate of steak and mashed potatoes. Oh, and don't forget the bowl of chopped tomatoes and cucumbers, sprinkled with feta. For a girl of her petite size, it was hard to imagine that she could eat it all.

This girl responded with a distracted, "Hi."

Liza stepped past the couch, looking back at the headful of thick, wavy dark hair.

Judging by the way she spoke, even by that one syllable in _Hi_ , Olympia Belugin was in a mood. And instead of following Liza through the rest of the apartment, Ramsey dropped the teddy bear and watched her go. But he didn't watch for long. Oh no.

He quickly went around the chaise part of the couch to sit directly before Ollie and the coffee table, and resumed watching her eat (which was what he had been doing before Liza got there) while Ollie kept her eyes glued to the television. In the show, Lucy Wells was at the opera with her mother, who was taking silent bids for her daughter's virginity. It was riveting, clearly.

The dining room was really an extension of the living space, with its own large windows that looked out into the lovely, narrow alley alongside the building. The dining table, which was hardly used, was from (guess?)—Ikea!

The first door on the right was Liza's room, and just as she turned the doorknob, she heard from Ollie: "Oh, yeah, and you forgot to do the dishes from last night. Thanks. Exactly what I need when I come back from work."

Liza closed her eyes and found no energy to offer up an excuse—which was that she had overslept and had to rush to work that morning. Hence the dirty dishes. Hence the poop. Still, she didn't answer Ollie.

She stepped inside her room, switching on the light, and crossed the floor to put her messenger bag onto her bed. The yellow bedspread and light blue walls were a little too obnoxious at the moment. The color choice hadn't been _her_ choice. Rather, the room had been painted by the previous tenants before they had moved into this place a little over a year ago. The color yellow logically was supposed to brighten spirits.

Not so much now.

Leaving the light on, Liza left. The kitchen was in the back, as all kitchens were when graystones were built sometime during the beginning of the 20th century.

Ollie's room was right next door to hers, and their shared bathroom was directly across from both of their doors, between the dining room and kitchen. One of the few bonuses of living in such an old building was the fact that the landlords kept the vintage pedestal sink and the deep tub.

The back entrance, which had been originally used for receiving deliveries, from say, the milkman, was now where Liza often stepped out onto the patio for a cigarette. When Ollie was in better spirits, she too joined. Or she made enough steak for the two of them on their little grill. The lingering aroma from the food stirred the emptiness of her stomach, but Liza wouldn't dare to ask if Ollie would share. Not now.

The street outside was quiet, save for a few neighbors who were more than likely arriving home late and now searched for parking. They made circles around the block. When he'd noticed one of the cars for a third time, Elijah decided to step further into the shadows. He hid partway in the alleyway that separated the graystone from the newer, red-bricked house on the other side.

He was looking up along the corner of the home, that corner of the living room to be exact. There were moans coming from above. They sounded very much like ones that a lady might utter mid coitus. Regardless of who was moaning and then _shrieking,_ he realized after a moment that whatever sexual activities that were going on in the girl's apartment were coming from a television.

After his previous search on the internet, he'd found out that Liza had a roommate. She was supposed to live with another girl. Considering that he still had much to learn about this Elizaveta Belov, he certainly had no idea who the roommate was. He couldn't see much of the apartment at all. He resorted to just listening. But after a moment, he did see Liza's face against the warm beige walls, what he could see of them at least. Mostly his view was of the ceiling and its original crown molding.

The downstairs folk were far too absorbed with figuring out who the masked singer, the rabbit, was to even bother looking out their windows _._ Plus, their eyesight would've probably been too poor to distinguish the lurker from the moving shadows of the pine.

Having gotten a plastic bag and some clorox wipes, Liza had stepped in front of the bay windows and then ducked down. She was cleaning up Ramsey's mess. Quick about it, she rose a few seconds later, only to disappear again.

Inside the apartment, she lingered behind the couch again. In her hand, she held the plastic bag containing the dog crap. Ollie didn't turn around. She stuffed a forkful of meat into her mouth.

"Did you take the wolfsbane I made?" Liza asked. Her voice was careful. "I know it turned out thick this time…"

Ollie spoke as she chewed. "No' 'et. I'm 'oing 'o 'omorrow."

"Okay," was Liza's reply. Letting out a soft breath, she turned to head back to the kitchen.

Ollie's delayed reply sounded before Liza opened the patio door: "Thanks...for the wolfsbane." It was a reluctant apology from someone who naturally had a hard time apologizing for things, but something about Liza's own tone sounded understanding.

"No problem, Oll." Liza left the plastic bag outside on the patio so it wouldn't stink up the apartment during the night and shut the door behind her.

Below, at the front of the building, Elijah stood very still. Had he heard correctly? Wolfsbane?

He was certainly no expert in mystical herbal remedies, but he knew for a fact that a concoction of wolfsbane was used only in one instance, and that was to subdue, to weaken, a werewolf.

Was that who this second girl was? A _wolf_?

Next, he heard the sound of clinking china and running water. Dishes. But the sounds were muted because they came from the back. Liza must've been washing said dishes per her friend's request. Although, it had been more like an order that would've come from someone's mother.

"Rams, get away. I'm not sharing," he heard Ollie's voice next.

Then came the sound of paws. He couldn't see this brief interaction, but this is what happened: Ramsey, ever persistent, jumped onto the couch beside Ollie, who turned to face him with unexpected yellow eyes.

There was a moment of silence between them, a stare down, and then the dog finally obeyed. He stepped backward, lowering his head in submission. Ollie said, "Go," and pointed the way.

Rams went, jumping off of the couch and trotting around it, tail a little low. He looked down the way to the other side of the apartment, where he could see Liza standing in front of the sink. The canine was at a loss as to what to do next. The forlorn teddy bear, which was lying where he'd dropped it, was an option.

Maybe. That was until something caught his attention.

His pointed ears turned back, he straightened, his tail went up in a tight curl, and he was moving to the front windows. Akitas rarely barked, only if there was a good reason to. Despite their size, they were far from Goldens or Labs. They were sneaky and very smart, and they didn't do anything without a purpose. So, when Ramsey sensed someone outside, and he released a low, rolling growl, Ollie tore her attention from the television and paused in her chewing, cheeks puffy.

Elijah took a small step back, hearing the dog. Old leaves crinkled underneath a polished shoe, and Ramsey's head peeked above the window frame. The man saw that the animal was very reminiscent of a large fox, or an orange husky, or a red wolf.

 _"Why are you freaking out, Ramsey?_ " Elijah heard Ollie ask, suspiciously, too.

Ramsey yowled at the dark. He didn't quite see Elijah, but the vampire had certainly been made. Ollie's face appeared in the window a second later. She too looked out to see who was there, lurking. She scanned the street, then the sidewalk, north and south. The front of the building, the fenced-in yard, if you could call it that.

"Who's out there, Rams? Huh? Who's out there?" A playful note entered her words. Her voice was slightly husky compared to that of Liza's smooth cadence.

Ollie was pretty, her hair darker, thicker, and slightly longer than that of her friend. Her face, rounder, had those slavic cheeks, too. But whereas Liza was fair, Ollie was warmer-toned. Dark, arching eyebrows framed her eyes, which were large and green.

As that green gaze surveyed the front of the building, Elijah deftly snuck away, going unnoticed, even as the dog still _ruff_ 'd.

"What's wrong?" he heard Liza call from the kitchen.

"Rams heard something outside," Ollie answered. "It's fine."

Then their feet were moving. Ollie returned to the couch, fell onto it backward. Liza stepped back to the sink. The dog retreated from the window once he sensed the vampire was gone—from the front of the house, at least.

The scandalous TV show was being rewound. It was harder to hear, while the sound of the sink grew louder now. Elijah blended into the darkness, creeping outside of the first-floor patio, looking up at the window of the second-floor kitchen.

Steam rose, fogging up the glass. He could see Liza behind it. Lifting an arm, she wiped her forehead with the back of her forearm. She had those yellow kitchen gloves on. Elijah took two steps back to better see her face. As unnerving as it was that her roommate was an apparent werewolf, he was there for Liza, after all. But what the hell did she have to do with his family? The fact that she'd brought up wolfsbane could've meant a couple of things. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, however. He wanted proof first. The most important thing was to proceed with caution.

Liza's brown gaze was set much like the expression that he'd seen on her face earlier that day, when he'd left the tea shop: pensive, somber. Her brows were drawn slightly, her lips pressed together, far from a smile, but not quite a frown either. She didn't appear to be one of those girls who were quick to smile, or easily amused. She might've been a deep thinker. She looked like something heavy was on her mind. Maybe not. He could've been wrong. This was only what he was assuming as he tried to read her features.

She was putting the dishes by the sink. Once she was finished, she shut the water off and took off her gloves. She hung them over the faucet, but before stepping away, she looked out the window.

Beyond the first and second floor patios, there was a short driveway and a small single-car garage beside it. An old, Ford sedan from the mid 2000s was parked before a much newer silver Mustang.

In front of the garage on a chunk of dead grass, there were a few pieces of patio furniture—nothing special, just two lawn chairs and a glass table. The place needed some sprucing up, but it wasn't too terrible. There was one of those round, unused charcoal grills near the lawn chairs. The whole area was surrounded by a fence, as were most of the backyards of these graystones. At the end of the driveway, on the other side of the gate, was the alley.

There were no milk men nowadays. Only garbage trucks on Tuesdays, and sometimes scavengers with their trunk beds in the evenings on Mondays before. The homeless were known to waddle past with carts as well. And bordering the alley were the above-ground El tracks.

Liza watched the tracks as a train—no, maybe two trains—neared, for the sound was louder than usual. Elijah too looked back, past the garage, and up at the rails beyond the back street. How the hell a person could get used to the noise was beyond him. When he glanced back at Liza, he saw that her attention was riveted on the train line. The rushing trains, going in opposite directions, snapped with electricity and clanged rhythmically against the rails. Yellow windows with silhouettes, which were sitting or standing, blurred past.

Her face was unreadable, almost in the way of Elijah's own natural physiognomy, everything there below the surface, yet all of it hidden. His own face usually obscured his thoughts, leaving most people floundering as they would try to figure him out. Liza was clearly far, far away now. Maybe there was something hypnotic about the sound of the train—because it did something to the girl. He didn't take his attention off of her.

The trains passed each other with a whoosh and sped to the south and north ends of the line. Even as the roaring receded, Liza kept her gaze there for a moment or two longer. Then, her eyes lowered to the yard.

Elijah shifted closer again to the first-floor patio, to make sure she didn't spot him.

There was a _clink_ sound. When Liza had jumped, he tensed. She was turning around, and although Elijah had a harder time seeing her through the window now, he heard the girls.

"Jesus," Liza had gasped.

Ollie had brought in her dirty dishes. Liza obligingly took them and turned on the sink again.

"Sometimes I forget you're not a wolf after I'm around them all day at the daycare," Ollie said with a hint of dark amusement. There was a smirk in her voice, too.

Elijah heard Liza's heart rate go up as she scrubbed her friend's plate, foregoing the gloves this time. He wouldn't blame any human for being taken aback like that. The wolf's heart beat was steady. Of course, it would be. The vampire found himself on edge. He couldn't help it.

"I thought you said that every woman can find her "she-wolf," Liza quipped, sounding bemused. It was a reference to the Shakira song, which Elijah didn't catch.

"Well, yeah. But you know what I mean. You're so jumpy." Ollie laughed, a rougher edge in her throat.

Elijah took hold of one of the wooden balusters of the patio.

"Shut up."

"Can't I tease you? You have something smart to say all the time."

Liza was silent. She certainly wasn't acting sharp-tongued right at that moment. Ollie yanked the fridge open.

Liza's pulse skipped a beat. She turned off the faucet, added Ollie's now-clean dishes and utensils to the dish rack on the counter, and turned around to find the shorter girl chugging out of a plastic bottle of _kefir_. Liza crossed her arms and leaned against the sink. Ollie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and gave her a look.

"Oh, don't be so sensitive."

Knowing better than to argue with a wolf, who was feeling the effects of the coming full moon, Liza forced a smile. She hid her face by turning around to get a glass out of a cupboard.

Ollie threw the now-empty kefir bottle into the trash can, which had a secure lid—so the dog couldn't get in. "I'm going to bed. Good night. _"_

"See you in a couple days, _"_ Liza bid. Her tone now belied a relief that she couldn't help but feel. Ollie didn't take offense if she even noticed.

"I won't be bitchy then." Ollie's footsteps were already receding down the hall.

Liza was filling her glass with water from the fridge filter. "I know," she said.

However, they needed a break from each other. It was hard living with a friend. And female werwolves were bitchy _twice_ a month, not once. Sometimes their time of the month coincided with the full moon, but not always.

Elijah was calmer but waited still. He heard, "Come on, Rams _,_ " as Liza stepped out of the kitchen, the lights going out. Ollie's door, the closest to the kitchen, closed shut.

Liza continued to speak to her dog: _"_ No? You're not coming in? Fine then." The hallway light dimmed next. She stepped inside her own room, but there was no sound of the door closing, which meant she left it open.

But instead of following his owner, Ramsey stepped into the kitchen, not ready to call it a night. His part-time job of security dog wasn't over yet for the day. Elijah heard the growl. Then a scrape of paws at the back door. The vampire took this as his cue to finally leave. So, he vanished into the darkness, around the building, without making the slightest of sounds.

Sensing the reaper's movement, Ramsey ran out of the kitchen and bolted into Liza's room. She gasped as he skidded to the window, putting his paws up on the frame. He barked loudly and his snout pressed against the glass, fogging it up. Having taken off her shirt, in her bra, Liza quickly reached to yank the curtains shut.

Rams stuck his head past the fabric, anyway, and huffed out a low, threatening snarl that must've translated as, " _I know you were there, asshole_."

"Shut up, Ramses!" Ollie yelled through the wall.


	3. When the Levee Breaks

The following three days went by uneventfully. Elijah made sure that he was careful. Olympia Belugin was indeed gone, and Liza was alone. He figured that the wolf girl was somewhere—and far away, he hoped—for the full moon. Not only was he glad that she was gone simply because werewolves and vampires naturally disliked each other; but he was happy that he could watch Liza without her having any disturbances.

Why the hell was she friends with this Olympia was something he didn't end up figuring out. But no matter. He would eventually, he was sure.

There was a minor roadblock during those three days. Not figuratively. Literally. Unable to approach the graystone since that dog of hers would sniff him out, he could only guess as to what the girl did after work. Using his heightened hearing and sight. The window curtains weren't open all the time, though.

The old hotel-converted-apartment building was too high, nine stories, so the bricked house on the other side was fine enough—its roof, that is, for watching. He even had a view into her bedroom. But _obviously_ his mind did not fall into the gutter. He wasn't Niklaus!

Elijah quickly gathered that Liza was a loner. She didn't really leave to go anywhere aside from work, and she and her dog were joined at the hip. The dog even slept with her in bed. And Elijah sensed that she was melancholy more than half the time. The first day that Ollie was gone, Liza went to work by nine in the morning. Elijah watched her sluggishly walk Ramsey, from afar, so that the animal could do his business. Skipping breakfast, she grumpily made her way to the train.

Grumpily—because Elijah was able to discern her body language pretty well. Her shoulders were stiff, and her head was dipped down, hair in a ponytail this time. Her fists were clenched, one around the strap of her bag and the other just at her side. On the train, she wore a face that looked upset. People called this "resting bitch face." Then again, the train car _was_ crowded.

She stood first, then a spot had opened between an elderly man and a busy woman, who read the Wall Street Journal. Liza, with her earbuds in, looked at her phone in her lap, listening to music loud enough to drown out the grinding of the rails and the announcements overhead. Because this was routine, she knew how many stops she was away from her destination at any given moment.

The train had dipped underground before it entered downtown. The stop names were there on the walls of each station, seen through the windows across from her. Luckily, the crowd always thinned by this point. The air became just a bit easier to breathe.

Nothing particularly interesting happened on the ride. There were no begging men or women, or any of those random solo performances that you see on YouTube. No one busted out in a rap or decided to show their acrobatic skills on the hand rails.

The girl watched those around her in between browsing the usual apps, which everyone had, on her phone. Her music ranged from early 2000s Coldplay, the Red Hot Chili Peppers; the classics Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin; to artists nowadays, like The Black Keys and Halsey.

Above on the street, Elijah followed her into the plaza, where there was a Jewel-Osco, the grocery store. There she bought what appeared to be her breakfast. In his opinion, it was a poor one, but it wasn't like he could do anything about it. Liza put the single banana, yogurt cup, and to-go sandwich into her bag. Then she opened a bottle of one of those premade Starbucks frappuccinos and sipped it on her way across the street. She'd made it just in time to the tea shop, getting to work quickly. After a short while, the coffee looked like it perked her up.

The distraction of her job seemed to temporarily fix the girl's mood. Either that or those smiles of hers were masks. But something told Elijah that there was honesty in her expressions when she interacted with her customers. It was just a sales job, but the way she talked about the product, the way she spoke like she _cared_ —maybe Liza afforded herself a reprieve from whatever weighed so heavily on her shoulders. Selling tea was enjoyable to her.

The number of customers during the day was steady. There wasn't a single lull. Liza had a half hour lunch, which she took in the store in the back room. She ended the day at five this time, then headed straight home. As soon as she got there, she took Ramsey out, taking a long walk with him this time—several blocks east to Sheridan, where the beach was in sight. But instead of going further to the edge of the lake, she then turned back. She followed Sheridan up and made their way back around to Winthrop.

At one point, Ramsey had stopped on Ardmore (which intersected Winthrop), looking across the street, and started to bark. There were a few passersby walking in the other direction. Liza had no idea who or what Ramsey saw, but she had to yank him forward. He never even barked at squirrels or birds. There were no fellow canines, either.

Scanning the residential buildings, she saw no one suspicious. When she finally got Ramsey to give up, and the two continued on their way, Elijah stepped out of an alleyway around a four-story apartment complex.

###

The following day, she had off. Despite this, her night of sleep was tremulous. She didn't fall asleep right away, tossing and turning until three or four again. Until...at last...Liza reached for an orange medication bottle from inside her nightstand and shook out one of the pills. The label read _Xanax_.

When Elijah realized what the medication was, he grew somber. This took him by surprise as much as the smoking did. When the Xanax kicked in fully forty minutes later, the girl was fast asleep, her breathing steady, her pulse languid. With the aid of the drug, she seemed to finally find some sort of peace.

Ramsey remained in bed with her until she woke up around noon. By that time, Elijah had already been there for a couple of hours, waiting for her to rise. Part of him worried, at first. There was a feeling of disappointment that he couldn't shake.

The melancholy had returned. As the girl went about her day, doing the bare minimum, Elijah wished desperately by now to find out exactly what was the matter. What was ailing her...soul. Even though he himself was quite stoic, Elijah was able to feel a great deal. And he knew that when people were alone, they gave into their inner turmoil.

The bare minimum included washing up, showering, and all that; taking Ramsey out for a walk (albeit a short one), and settling on the couch in front of the television with a yogurt and some toast. When daytime television grew insufferable—Liza was _not_ a fan of reality TV—the girl picked up what looked like a journal, or sketchbook, and drew, it looked like. Elijah couldn't tell exactly.

After a more substantial meal—reheating some leftovers, soup maybe? —Liza went into her room to read a book. It was _The Unbearable Lightness_ _of Being_ by Milan Kundera. Elijah knew of the book, having read it once (he'd read millions of books.) An interesting choice. She read intently for several hours. He had the feeling that she was going to continue to surprise him.

The third day, back to her schedule, didn't allow Liza to wallow. Getting to work in the morning, she returned home before dark and spend the rest of the night doing similar things as the day before. She decided to go to bed early, read again, and eventually reached for the Xanax once more. With it, she fell asleep before midnight, this time.

Elijah didn't camp out on the roof of the neighboring house. He wasn't a caveman or a peeping Tom. There was a hotel that he was staying at in downtown, and he caught a cab to take him there; only he ended up asking the driver to drop him off on Michigan Avenue, off of Lake Shore Drive, so he could walk the rest of the way south.

He was that type of guy—the "take a walk" kind, yes—whether he was in a good mood or bad. Plus, the city was beautiful at night. Magnificent Mile started at Oak Street and roughly spanned all the way down to the Chicago River and the DuSable Bridge. This part of Michigan was an upscale stretch of shopping and hotels. Despite it being very late, there were still people out.

Elijah liked to people watch. He saw how much they had changed. Not only in Chicago, though, of course. Everywhere. In the late 1800s, the sky beckoned the people of the windy city. So, there was a reason why Chicago became the birthplace of skyscrapers. Elijah admired both the classic architecture and the new gleaming steel and glass additions that were added in the 20th century.

He passed the John Hancock Tower, the looming, black pillar that seemed both a monstrosity and an impressive giant. Dark gray masses of clouds dulled the very top. Two blocks down, to the right, was the historic Water Tower, which was one of the few public buildings that survived the fire of 1871. In the years since, it became a symbol of old Chicago.

In Elijah's opinion, the architecture became far more impressive once he neared the bridge. The twenty-minute walk thus far hadn't broken him out in a single drop a sweat. Vampires didn't sweat. The gothic Tribune Tower glowed a warm orange as he passed it on the left, its flying buttresses haloing the very top like a crown.

Just ahead across the way, the brilliantly illuminated Wrigley Building stood near the edge of the bridge, facing the river. Its terra-cotta facade was flooded with lights. The clock at the very top of the tower read half past midnight, and once Elijah reached the bridge, he paused to look around at the rest of the glittering buildings.

The gaudy Trump Tower stood in all its glassy glory. Across the river, there was the London Guarantee Building, which was much more refined and classic with its colonnade at the entrance. On that side of the water, across the wide, busy street, was the 333 North Michigan Avenue building. It had an art deco style with solid, polished marble slabs on the lower floors, which gave way to vertical bands of limestone and windows that reached all the way to the top.

Those were just some of the remarkable buildings. There were many more that flanked the shores of the river, all reflecting off of the gently rippling water. Elijah put his hands on the dark red rails of the pedestrian walkway of the bridge, facing west, his back to the lake, and took in a lungful of the chill, early spring air. He was yet again reminded of how much Chicago had changed.

With the modern era, tour boats went up and down the river, and he knew that around Saint Patrick's Day, the water was dyed green. The river was a marvel to all now. In 1893, that was not the case.

Back then, the river was used as a dump where waste was thrown. It drifted into Lake Michigan, and when rains flooded the river, an oily plume flowed out into the body of water. Whereas the atmosphere was fresh now, Elijah still remembered how this part of the city, in particular, smelled like pus oozing from an old wound. There were sanitation projects underway during the time of the World Fair, but the process hadn't been fast.

There was nothing more enjoyable right then and there than this stroll. Niklaus wouldn't appreciate it nearly as much as Elijah did. Rebekah, on the other hand, probably would, particularly because of the fond memories she had with her older brother. Elijah had almost forgotten why he was there in this part of the Midwest, for a brief moment, until he turned his head, the sound of paws on cement reaching his ears.

An orange dog, on a leash, passed by, led by a couple. Upon first glance, it looked like Liza's dog, but this one's ears were floppy. It was a red retriever. And, with a reluctant exhalation of breath, the man let go of the railing and proceeded the rest of the way down.

There was no traffic at this time of night. Sounds of sirens reverberated through the corridors between buildings, but not enough to distract Elijah from his walk. So, he didn't notice the black Cadillac SUV that was slowing down slightly as it passed him.

The London Guarantee Building happened to presently be a hotel, and that was where Elijah was staying. As he approached the corner of Michigan Avenue and Wacker Drive, stepping off of the bridge, he looked up at the concave facade, which was bathed in its own spotlights.

Then he heard the dull sound of a car door shutting somewhere behind him, but he also heard the footsteps and heartbeats of people passing him, and the honking of other cars. He didn't realize that someone was following him until he reached the columns of the hotel's entrance. He was about to walk inside, then stopped suddenly. He just hadn't been paying attention.

But never one to react rashly, Elijah wasn't spinning around. The scent of clean-smelling cologne masked the faint smell of blood, and he quickly recognized the voice.

"Elijah? I knew it was you!"

The person who'd followed him, who'd gotten out of the black Cadillac, was a handsome, young Black man. He had cat-like eyes, a smooth, closely shaved head, and full lips, which were smiling. He wore a sleek, expensive leather jacket and equally expensive jeans and shoes. He looked extra, as kids would say today.

Elijah could never forget Marcel Gerard. He was his brother Niklaus' former protégé, after all, and a man whom Klaus had _turned_ in the early part of the 19th century in New Orleans.

"Marcellus," Elijah said, genuine surprise crossing his features and entering his voice. He was the last person that Elijah had expected to see here—of all places. "What are you doing here?"

"I was about to ask you," Marcel said, uncertain at first, for Elijah was tense. But then another smile spread across the younger vampire's face, and he was reaching to pull the Mikaelson into an embrace that Elijah wasn't ready for.

He returned it half-heartedly, Marcel clapped him on the back, and Elijah smiled slightly in return when they pulled away a second later. "Business," he replied coolly.

"Oh yeah? Me too, actually." Marcel, with his coal eyes reflecting the lights around them, glanced back at the view of the river. "Been here for a while actually."

"Is that so?" Elijah had schooled his expression.

Marcel's hand went to the back of his neck and he chuckled. "Yeah. Thought I'd get out of Nola for a bit, been doing some work with the factions here. Some projects. In fact, gotta say that our city could learn from some of the stuff they've got going on here. Nola could do way better."

Elijah's eyebrow raised. A few people stepped out of the hotel, passed them. The vampires took a step to the side. They glanced at the humans, and then Marcel continued.

"What, you surprised? Chicago runs like a well-oiled machine. Well, at least when it comes to our kind and the wolves. The humans always have their own shit going on, all that crime, but yeah—yeah, man, I've been here, helping out, learning a thing or two. I don't plan to stay here forever—I'm definitely going to go back home at some point—but for the time being, I'm working with the vampire council here."

"Sounds very productive, Marcellus," Elijah said with mild interest and didn't inquire further. With Marcel's smile fading, however—for he probably expected a bigger and better reaction from his elder—Elijah cleared his throat and spoke again:

"Yes, I'm really just passing through. I haven't been back here in a while. A long while, actually." He looked past the younger vampire at their surroundings. "I haven't really thought about returning to New Orleans, but perhaps I might. I am very much enjoying Chicago, seeing how much has changed. History has always been one of my weaknesses…" he trailed off.

Although Marcel didn't seem too pleased about his vague explanation, since Marcel himself had just been so frank; at the same time, the younger vampire wasn't really surprised. Elijah was a stiff. "Right. Well, that's cool. Tried those hot dogs at Portillo's yet? Oh, you gotta stop by Lou Malnati's. Best pizza in the city."

Elijah forced a smile in reaction to his cheerful demeanor. "Thank you for the suggestion. I'll take it into consideration."

Marcel pointed to the building behind Elijah. "You staying here?"

The latter looked up at the columns. "Yes, I am."

"I'm staying a couple blocks away from here." A pause from Marcel. This was becoming increasingly awkward for the both of them, yet Marcel was trying to keep their interaction afloat. "How is Klaus?" A beat of hesitation. "Rebekah?"

Elijah replied readily. "Rebekah is in New York. Last I heard from Niklaus, he was...in Miami, I believe?"

Marcel was nodding and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Good to know. Good to know. I've been meaning to see what he was up to." He said nothing about Rebekah, though. "You know what, we should catch up later. Have a drink. I know this nice rooftop place nearby. Beautiful view."

"Yes, all right. Another time." Elijah reached to clasp him briefly on the shoulder. "Sorry, but I was just about to retire for the night." He already started stepping backward toward the glass doors. "We should catch up later." It sounded more like an afterthought.

"Cool. See you later." Then Marcel also began to back away. He raised a finger, pointing at Elijah. "I hope you're not pulling my chain. I do want to catch up. Maybe if you're interested, you can meet some of the city's council members."

"Maybe. It was nice seeing you." Elijah opened a door. "Good night."

Marcel watched him go inside, the glass door shutting behind the older vampire. Rolling his eyes, he then turned around and started down the sidewalk and around the building. He always thought that Elijah had a stick up his ass.

Marcel wasn't going to be surprised if he never hit him up, but he'd tried. It was the least he could do. It was the right thing, the _polite_ thing. And despite the differences he had with the Mikaelson family, they _had_ been a part of his life long ago.

Taking his phone out of his pocket, he dialed a number and told the person on the other line, "Hey, I'm by the London Hotel," then he hung up. He started pocketing his phone afterward, only to look at it again and click on _messages_. He searched for Klaus' number in his contacts and started writing a text.

 _Hey, Klaus. It's Marcel. Been a long time. I'm in Chicago, and just saw Elijah here. He told me last he heard you were in Miami. Hit me up sometime. I'm in Chicago for a bit._

He sent it, frowning slightly. He wasn't sure if Klaus would answer him. He also wasn't sure if that was Klaus' number anymore. But he hoped that it was. Elijah being his cold, boring self was fine with him.

Whatever.

But if Marcel wasn't going to hear from his maker, that was going to be a little more disappointing. He wouldn't let it bother him enough so that people would notice. He wasn't like that. He was naturally upbeat and positive, the "life of the party," and charismatic and smart in his business ventures. But, it would still sting. Especially since it had taken so long for him to get over the second-to-last time that Klaus had daggered Rebekah; _and_ the tons of other shit that Klaus had pulled in the last century.

Rebekah was a sorer spot. Marcel tried not to think about her, which was why he hadn't said anything about her apparently being in New York. Before he could fall into _that_ scarred-over black hole, which promised misery, he saw the Cadillac approach, slowing down, and he went to it, opening the passenger side door.

He thought that he'd needed to reach out to Klaus, to at least to tell him about Elijah, and that was that. Marcel wouldn't overthink it. The car took him down Michigan Ave.

###

Elijah was pretty confident that Liza was safe because he was watching her. He hadn't sensed anything supernatural other than her roommate—and not including himself. While there might've been something about her that was more than human, he was simply not certain. So far, there had been only the mention of wolfsbane, but that proved nothing.

So, Liza wasn't in any danger for now, under his watch, from other vampires, wolves, or anything else that went bump in the night.

He thought that she was safe until the day that Olympia was supposed to get back—at least, that's what he assumed since there was no sign of her the night before. That following day, when the effects of the moon should've been completely gone, was a rainy one. It poured from morning to night. Armed with an umbrella and some boots, Liza had to go to work. Despite the weather, the day went as normal. She'd come in by eleven in the morning and left by eight at night when they closed the shop. The train was particularly crowded that night because of the additional people taking public transportation.

When it was time to get off at Bryn Mawr, Liza couldn't squeeze her way through fast enough before the doors closed and the train continued onto the next stop: Thorndale. She cursed her luck, exhausted and sweaty, for the inside of the car was humid. This didn't happen often, but it wasn't a surprise that the people that had been in front of her hadn't let her through. A certain aggression overcame those in a rush to get home.

The girl had sworn under her breath, first in English—"Fuck!"—then in Russian—" _Suka_!" which meant _bitch_. And an older woman near her seemed to agree, calling someone who had been ahead of them a _Puta_ for not letting others pass.

Then the woman added, glancing back at the girl: "Some people. Shiiiit. It's a little rain, not the apocalypse."

Aggravated, Liza gripped the rail closest to the sliding doors and clenched her jaw. This meant that she'd have to cross onto the other side of the platform at Thorndale in order to catch the train going in the opposite direction back to her stop.

But when they finally reached Thorndale, and she had gone downstairs to street level, in order to get to the other stairs to go back up, the throng of people was so thick that in a fit of frustration, she threw up her hands altogether and trudged to the exit of the station.

She needed to breathe.

When she got out onto the sidewalk, under an overpass just like the one at her station, she took in a lungful of air and exhaled it. It was just so _musty_ back there. She couldn't take a minute more of the crowd, the lack of breathing space, how hectic it all was. She was hungry and tired, and just wanted to get home to where it was dry and warm. Her stomach churned nauseatingly.

She fixed the strap of her bag on her shoulder, made sure her jacket was zipped all the way and decided to walk. She was already damp from sweat and catching some of the rain before. She had an umbrella that somewhat helped. Getting wetter wasn't worse than suffocating in another train car. She'd worn a sweater underneath, anyway, so it wasn't too chilly. She had three blocks. It might've been three long _er_ blocks than normal, but only three.

Without delay, she marched around the corner and down Winthrop. Headlights smeared across the street like paint, splashes from tires sounding like buckets full of water. The trick was to walk as far away from the street as possible so as not to get possibly splashed. The earthy smell that came with the rain mingled, unpleasantly, with the smell of exhaust.

Her home was ahead. Hopefully, Ollie was feeling much better. Liza knew she would be. After a full moon, she always was. The girl's feet were getting wet, but it wasn't going to take too long.

Once she passed the elementary school on the first block, there was only two more to go. At the first intersection, the light took forever. A couple more people crossed with her, but they turned in different directions. The rest of the buildings ahead were residential.

Elijah was getting wet too, and he didn't have an umbrella. He trailed behind her, the rain helping to mask his presence. Unfortunately, though, the intersection switched lights, and cars drove by before he could get across. He narrowly missed a sheet of water as a car drove by.

"Damn it," he swore. Looking both ways, wondering how long it was going to take, he ran a hand through his short, wet hair and then wiped his face uselessly. He knew he wasn't going to lose Liza, but this was enough for him to miss the sight of her for just a few minutes. But a few minutes were enough. He hadn't expected a couple of _humans_ to endanger the girl.

Liza didn't notice the figure behind her. The rain was just too loud, and so were the cars. She was just concentrating on putting one thoroughly-soaked foot in front of the another. She also had to wipe clinging hair out of her face. While the rain wasn't coming down at an angle, the wind still blew, and her hair was soaked now. She gathered it to one side, one shoulder, and out of the way.

She wasn't close enough to the second intersection when she approached an alleyway, one of those that ran along small buildings. She didn't see the shape that stepped in front of her until she almost ran into it. In her moment of startle, she yelped and quickly backed away before the hands that darted out could catch her.

"Sorry, I—" she started.

It all happened too fast. One of those moments that only gets hazier after it passes and shock sets in. As Liza turned to walk around the man whom she nearly knocked into, she caught sight of the second man who'd caught up behind her. Gasping, she spun around, fear shooting through her all the way from her wet, cold feet, to the hair follicles at the crown of her head.

"Hey, need a ride?" the guy in front of her said. While the second man didn't touch her, he shifted so that he was blocking her path back the way she'd come.

The words rushed out of her mouth as she tried to walk past the first guy: "No, I don't." He stepped in her way. "I don't need a ride—"

She started to shove past him when he grabbed her by the arm. His face was obscured by the rain, the hoodie he wore, and the street lamp that shone behind him in the alley. They both could've been white or otherwise, she didn't have any idea. They could've been young, they could've been a lot older than her.

"Let's get you somewhere dry, baby," the second guy started to say. They wore indistinguishable clothes, whose details she would never remember even if she tried. _Baby_ —it had made her cringe.

Perhaps because the weather seemed to make every citizen of Chicago wary, or the fact that cars drove past, or that silhouettes of people in the distance were blurry but in sight—the two guys began to pull Liza into the alley. She struggled, the umbrella was all but knocked out of her hands, and the rain, full force, filled her eyes, making it harder to see.

"Stop!" she cried out. "Stop! Stop!"

There was a tangle of limbs—hers, theirs. She felt hands on her body, arms around her middle, a hand on her chest, one at the crook of an elbow, and another was on her neck all of a sudden. That one gruffly tried to cover her mouth. She vehemently shook her head to knock it away.

They pulled her into the alley. She tried to hit them with her bag, but she couldn't. It ended up falling to the ground, probably in a puddle because she heard the splash. She was soaked to the bone—her jacket, pants, sweater, seeping into her undergarments. She knew she was crying because she heard the sounds in her own throat, but the rain mixed with the brine that came out of her tear ducts. Through the haze, she could see the dull yellow lights of a car parked in the alley.

 _Why me?_ she thought distantly. _Why me? Did they follow me from the train? Were they waiting?_

The two guys were saying something, but she didn't register what words they said. Maybe they were panicking, or anxious, or angry—she had no idea. They certainly weren't calm or relenting. They dragged her to that car. All she could do was fight—even though she quickly became tired, a girl against two grown men—and stare at the vehicle, thinking, _Am I really going to get inside of it? Were they really going to make me?_

The noise all three of them heard—before either of the men were able to open one of the doors—sounded like a splash of water, or a _whoosh_ , or both. It was hard to tell. Liza heard it, realized her assailants did too, because the one behind her, who was essentially pushing her, gasped. Then he was suddenly ripped away.

That was the only way to describe it. He was there one second, his arms around her, one hand still trying to cover her mouth so that she wouldn't scream, then he was pulled away. Someone else was there.

There was a scream—that man's scream—then a hard _thud_. Liza saw a blur out of the corner of her water-filled eyes, and the other guy holding her was yanked next. With this force, Liza found herself falling backward. Her ass hit the cracked, uneven ground of the alley, the palms of her hands seared with pain, and she tried to scramble away from whoever, _whatever_ , was there, too.

Another scream, a kind of scream one rarely hears from a man, longer than the first, and shrill. Her eyesight couldn't focus, but she definitely saw a body being thrown through the air, only to land five feet past the car. The girl herself screamed. Then another blur, this time toward her, and her voice all but died in her throat. She coughed, choking on rainwater and saliva, and she instinctively shielded her face, lying on her back.

It was another man, who fell to his knees before her.

Elijah's normally calm, velvety voice was wavering with concern. Even as she tried to kick him away, he raised his hands in a placating gesture and said, "I'm not here to harm you. Are you hurt? I promise I mean you no harm."

Recognizing his voice from somewhere, Liza was too stunned to say anything. Seeing his face, his familiar face, she let out a horrified sob and scrambled back further. Elijah remained where he was, his hands raised and kneeling before her.

"Elizaveta, _I_ am _not_ going to hurt you," he insisted earnestly. He too was soaked—white button-down, his suit, the black trench coat he wore over, shoulders shining with raindrops.

Liza shook, her eyes wide. How did he know her name? Then she remembered. This man had stopped by her shop earlier in the week. He had bought tea from her. Terrified, she lifted her own hands, as if to fend him away.

"Those men—they can't hurt you anymore. I've stopped them," he went on. "You're safe now. You're safe."

Liza glanced very quickly at the shape of the closest body— _dead_ body, she knew for certain.

"Elizaveta—"

The man inched toward her, making sure she saw his hands all the while, simply wanting her to calm down. This was not what he'd intended. This was not how Elijah had wanted her to meet him. This wasn't supposed to happen. And yet it did. All because he hadn't hurried across the damn street.

The girl was terrified, in shock, and afraid of _him_ , as well—even though he'd had saved her. Mascara and eyeliner smeared those dark eyes of hers. Her lips trembled. He meant her no harm, yet how the hell would she believe him now? But he didn't blame her for being afraid, not at all. He'd just killed those two men. They lay dead on the ground. Frowning deeply, Elijah opened his mouth to say something else.

But in a renewed wave of fear, Liza cried out, squeezing her eyes shut, and there was a ripple in the air between them. It was an invisible yet tangible force. It came from her hands.

Elijah was knocked backward. He was pushed back with such energy that he flew across the alley and toward some trash cans. Liza's eyes flung open, the breath went out of her. Not believing what she'd done, she then turned her hands over, palms toward her, and stared at them.

"Oh, God. No, God. No, no, no," she said.

Elijah's crumpled body was covered by the trash cans, their contents spilling out. Shaking, the girl was climbing to her feet, not wanting to know whether she'd killed him or had only knocked him out. Seeing where she'd dropped her purse, she grabbed it. Without looking back, she sprinted out of the alley.

Tripping on the sidewalk, she scraped her hands again. They were definitely bloody, for they felt warm. But she quickly picked herself back up and didn't stop. Didn't look back. Even running through the last intersection just as the light changed from green to red. Cars honked. She didn't pay attention to them. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, her life depending on it.

She didn't stop until she shoved her way through the gate of her graystone and scrambled up the steps. It took a few tries to get her key into the keyhole. She was past crying. She was weeping, hiccupping, hands shaking. And by the time she reached the second-floor door, she broke down completely.

Inside, she was greeted by the smell of cooking food and the sound of Dean Martin's _Mambo Italiano_ playing. It came from the kitchen.


	4. You Don't Know Me

It was Ollie. _She_ was cooking. And singing—her voice awful, completely off-key. It's what she always did when she cooked. She was, in fact, in a good mood that night.

Liza blinked and stilled for a moment in the foyer, holding her breath and listening. Her bag slid from her limp grip to the floor, and she shut the door behind her, locking it. She heard the sound of paws. Ramsey approached, tail wagging, that damn teddy bear in his mouth.

The sound of the rain was muffled by the music. It was so jarring and so unwanted that Liza cringed and covered her face. As her dog butted her with his head, dancing in place, she didn't take the toy, didn't throw it as he wanted. His upright ears went a little flat.

Instead, the girl barely stifled a sob between her fingers and glanced at the bay windows. The curtains were drawn most of the way, but there was an opening in the middle, about a foot wide. The dark glass was endlessly peppered with glittering raindrops that slid downward. She was rooted to her spot, leaning against the door. She couldn't move. She couldn't see straight. Looking back at Ramsey, in front of her, she stared at him as her eyes welled anew. Her feet, inside her soaked boots, were freezing, yet she didn't move.

Despite making it home, all she saw, all that flashed before her eyes was that heavy rain, those two guys, remembering the way they had grabbed her, pulled her to that car—complete strangers. If they didn't want to rob her, then what were they going to do instead? _Rape_ her? Inside that car? The morbid thought was the only one she could think of. And the third man—the man that she knew had visited her at work. It had been him. He'd followed her.

She remembered his face, his voice, what he'd worn. He was in a suit tonight too, even as it poured from the heavens. She didn't remember what he'd bought at the store, what kind of tea, but she remembered the way he'd spoken, his tone so polite, so cool-sounding. She'd known he couldn't have been from around there. He had to have been from somewhere else. Who was he? _What_ was he?

She remembered the falling bodies, the screams, the dull, packing sounds against the asphalt. And then remembering what _she_ had done, she lowered her hands and looked down at them. They were trembling. The skin was scraped and bleeding, cuts mixed in with dirt. Not caring, however, she gripped her thighs, leaning forward, and let out a loud weep.

The pain in her palms, as she pressed them against her jeans, brought her back to the moment, back to where she was, inside her apartment, in the warmth.

"Liza?" came Ollie's voice from the kitchen. "Are you home?"

Liza looked up and couldn't answer. She just cried, blubbering. The music still played. Then she heard footsteps. Ramsey moved from one spot to another, shaking his head hard, side to side, making sure the teddy bear was truly dead. Seeing Ollie coming down the hall, he approached her with the toy. Maybe _she'd_ take it. He dropped it and trotted back a few steps.

Ollie did take it—only as she started to throw it, she stopped, seeing Liza there, looking like a complete mess. Ollie's hand dropped to her side, and she let go of the toy.

"Oh my God, what happened?" she immediately went up to her friend, taking her by the shoulders. "What _happened_? Why are you all wet?"

Liza shook her head with a whimper. She lifted one hand in a fist and brought it to her mouth. Ollie saw the blood. "Oh my God. Did you just come back from work? Liza!" She gave her a shake.

Liza sniveled out a: "Y-yes."

Ollie's green eyes widened. She held her friend firmly even as she trembled. "Tell me what happened," she repeated slowly, her voice very low now.

Covering her face, Liza fell into the shorter girl's arms, and Ollie hugged her to her chest. The apron she wore, which said _Kiss the Cook,_ got wet at once.

"What happened?" she demanded. She was rigid all over.

"Two g-guys," Liza choked out, her face buried in Ollie's thick, dark locks. "Th-they—they," a cry, then, "they followed me and-and—"

Ollie suddenly yanked her away. There was a growl in her tone. She held Liza's brown eyes even as she couldn't look straight at Ollie. She kept glancing away. "Where?" Ollie questioned. " _Where_?"

The words tumbled out of Liza's mouth. She brought a hand up to her face again, speaking through it, her words muffled, but Ollie could hear. "Up Winthrop. I miss-missed my stop. I walked down the street. I didn't—I didn't s-see them."

Ollie gripped her upper arms now. "What did they do? _Attack_ you?" Urgently, Ollie looked around, spotted Liza's purse, then leaned back to look her over, up and down. "What did they do?" Ollie repeated.

Liza raised her gaze up to hers, shaking her head. Instead, she said, "Then someone else show-showed up. Ollie, someone else was there. It was another guy."

" _Who_?"

"It was a guy I saw from w-work. He just—he just showed up there. Ollie, he did something to those other guys. I think—I think he-he… _killed_ them, Oll. I saw—I saw their _bodies_."

Ollie listened, the expression on her round, girlish face growing outright deadly: her jaw clenching, her green eyes becoming brighter, yellower, her dark, arching brows narrowing. She tilted her chin down, almost the way a seething canine would, a wolf.

Liza looked away from her again, to Ramsey, whose tail had stopped wagging as he regarded them, sensing something wrong.

"I don't know how he did it—he just _did_. And then I—I," now Liza looked back down at her hands, at her scuffed-up palms, "Ollie, I used...I used my... _see-lah_." _Power_. "I didn't mean it. He flew through the air. I don't know if I—if I killed him. I don't think I did. I don't think—I don't think he was _human_."

Ollie began to help her take off her jacket, Liza letting her. She shivered from a chill she felt when the coat was off. After hanging it beside the door, Ollie steadied her again. "Take off your shoes," she said in a tone that was now almost motherly. "Let's take off your shoes. They're soaked."

Complying, Liza bent forward, but Ollie did most of the work, squatting before her, unzipping one boot, helping her take it off, then the other, until Liza was barefoot, socks balled up nearby.

"I didn't mean it," she said, in a daze. Ollie stood and began leading her down the hallway, arm around her friend's torso. The song was nearing its end. Dean Martin was singing his last words, the repeating mambo rhythm almost over.

 _Hey, mambo, mambo Italiano_

 _Hey, mambo, mambo Italiano_

 _Ho, ho, ho, you mixed up Siciliano_

"I didn't mean it. It just happened."

"No one is mad at you for using your powers," Ollie said. She didn't snap, but her voice was firm again. "You're a fucking witch, Liza. Even if you don't use your magic, it's still there. Thank God that you used it this time."

When they got to the kitchen, Ollie led her to a chair around the small round table, but Liza could manage and let go. Any other night, Ollie's mouthwatering cooking would've stirred a groan from her stomach. Not tonight. Liza's stomach clenched instead.

 _It's a so delish a ev'rybody come copisha_

 _How to mambo Itali—_

Ollie turned off the cylindrical, red Bluetooth speaker that was by the window. When she turned around, she asked, "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Liza looked at her hands, then down at her legs, her jeans disgustingly wet and stained. She probably had bruises elsewhere. Maybe there was more blood underneath her clothes. The aftershock of the incident hadn't quite passed enough for her to care about more bodily injuries. Instead of answering, she carefully gripped the bottom edge of her sweater to peel it off. Ollie obligingly took it to drape it over another chair.

" _Schyas_ ," she said. _Hold on_.

Left in a tank top, Liza sat there, shaking, her hands, palms up, raised. "That-that man wasn't _human_." Lifting an arm up higher, she saw reddish imprints of hands on her skin. From those guys.

Saying nothing else, Ollie went to a cupboard and was rummaging through it. When she got what she needed, her face stony, she brought back some hydrogen peroxide, gauze, bandages, and sat in the chair with Liza's wet sweater on the back, scooting it forward, sitting on the edge.

Then she took one of Liza's hands and began to silently clean it. Ollie was good at keeping calm in moments like these, even though moments like these rarely happened, if ever, despite her being a wolf and Liza a witch. Neither of them had been in messes involving strange attackers or even stranger heroes.

Liza was wincing, her instinctive response to pull away her hand, but Ollie held her by the wrist. " _Poterpi nemnógo_ ," she said, much like a mother would. _Toughen up._ She looked up at Liza as if to say, _You're a big girl_.

Liza held her breath, trying to steel herself, and glanced away at Ramsey, who trotted into the kitchen with the teddy bear back in his mouth. His brown eyes looked like they were frowning.

"When he came into the store...he looked normal. He just bought some t-tea. I didn't pay attention. I forgot about him after he-he left." Liza lifted her other hand to wipe her eyes.

"And you didn't sense anything weird about him when you met him?" Ollie asked.

Liza looked back at her. Ollie was gently wiping away the blood and dirt. She hadn't even put the peroxide on yet. Liza answered through another wince, "Like what?"

"Like anything weird. With your _powers_?"

Liza, grimacing, shut her eyes and turned her head away again. "No," she whispered. "Fuck my powers."

Ollie looked at her for a moment, watching the tears roll down her friend's flushed cheeks, and saying nothing more, she just let Liza cry. Liza couldn't look back at her friend. She stared somewhere across the kitchen, past Ramsey, between wiping her eyes and her snotty nose.

There was another sort of anguish in her voice, a misery that bubbled from within throat, from somewhere deep in her gut, like from an old wound, the kind that didn't need any words of sympathy because all those words had already been said, and there was really nothing that could've been done to ease the grief. So, Ollie just bandaged up her hands so they wouldn't get infected.

When she was done, she got up from her chair. Liza looked back at her, hiccupping, and noticed that she was cooking something Italian indeed, for there was a box of pasta on the counter, and two pots, one for water that was already boiling. The other had a tomato sauce, which Ollie silently had a taste of with a wooden spatula—she didn't put anything extra in, which meant it was exactly how it needed to taste. Next, she put in the pasta, all of it. She usually made more food than either of them could eat in a night.

Ramsey had dropped the teddy bear again and came up right beside her, in cast Ollie decided to be generous. But a moment or two later, he was tearing his attention away from the delicious sustenance that he'd never have. He looked back in direction of the hallway before either of the girls even heard the knock on the door.

They watched the dog sprint out of the kitchen and to the front of the apartment. He was _ruff_ 'ing, low and with a warning.

Liza met Ollie's eyes with alarm, and the latter said, "Stay here." However, Liza was already getting up as her friend followed the dog.

When Ollie got to the front door, she didn't open it. Ramsey, sensing the person on the other side, gave a bark, and Ollie didn't reprimand him as she'd normally. "Who is it?" she said cautiously and moved a green eye to the peephole. She heard the voice as the person spoke.

"It's Stan from downstairs."

An old man, with his white hair and friendly demeanor, was standing on the other side. He was over sixty and wore a sweatshirt that didn't have a hood, and some sweatpants. He and his wife were probably getting ready for bed.

Ollie looked back over her shoulder at Liza, who'd come into the living area, anyway. They shared each other's relief. "One second," Ollie called. Despite her state of distress, puffy eyes and cheeks, Liza went up to her and took her dog by the collar to pull him back. Ollie, meanwhile, unlocked the door.

"Just wanted to check on you girls," Stan was saying as the door opened. "It's really coming down out there."

Ollie gave him a smile, letting out a breath. "I know, right?" she said with forced enthusiasm. "We're fine. _Annnd_ the power is still on! How are you and Martha?"

Behind her, Liza tried not to look at the old man so that he wouldn't think anything was wrong, in case he'd judge her by the way she appeared. She had knelt beside Ramsey and held him back as he growled. He normally didn't like strangers, especially men, so the reaction was nothing new.

Stan smiled warmly. "Oh, just getting ready for bed. Just thought I'd check on you…" he repeated.

It would've been a lie to say that Ollie was completely relaxed. She might've sounded like it, but with the way she stood in front of Liza, keeping the door open against her hip—not obviously cautious, yet with a firm grip on the door handle—Liza knew that she was still on edge.

"We're fine," Ollie repeated, again, too, her smile wide. "You two have a good night." And she began to close the door slowly. Stan didn't move.

"Just thought I'd check on you girls," he repeated for the third time, oddly. His tone was still cheerful. He looked from Ollie to Liza, what he could see of her. She had looked up nervously.

"We're...fine," Ollie said. She glanced back at her roommate.

"It's really coming down out there," Stan went on.

Neither girl said anything else. There was a creek behind the old man, on the stairs, just down the little hallway, the sound of a footstep. Someone else was there. Another creek. Someone was coming up.

"Mr. Johnston," Ollie said suspiciously.

The old man looked back as _another_ man, slightly taller and in a suit and trench coat, appeared behind him on the landing, and upon meeting this man's gaze, Stan started backing up.

"All right. You have a good night, girls."

Ramsey barked. In fact, he started barking and didn't stop. As Stan slipped past Elijah, Liza froze, started to panic. "Oh my God. It's him," she whispered sharply.

Ollie had spoken over her: "Liza, get back."

Liza didn't move, couldn't. Elijah slowly moved toward the doorway. As Ollie looked at him, glaring darkly, saying, "What the hell do you want?" he raised a hand to forestall anything else from her.

"I promise, I mean neither of you harm." The man looked like he had been caught in the rain, his hair slicked back at an angle, a light, moist sheen to his skin, his dress shirt clinging to his chest a bit.

Ollie didn't answer him. Raising her chin, she moved her head, smelling the air between them. Face tilted, her eyes flashed yellow. " _Ohn' vampír_ ," she said to Liza, without looking back at her. _He's a vampire._

Elijah's dark eyes darted to the girl whom he'd saved, crouching there on the floor in the foyer, holding back her dog who was squirming. Ramsey wasn't a small dog, and yet Liza didn't let go of him as he pulled toward the vampire, the dog's long, shedding red hair sticking to her clothes.

She didn't say anything. She just stared at Elijah, pale-faced. He saw the bruises on her arms, the bandaging on her hands. He took in a sharp breath.

"My name is Elijah," he went on calmly and looked back at Ollie. "Elijah Mikaelson. _Yes_ , I am a vampire," he seemed like he'd understood what they'd said in Russian, yet he spoke in English, "but I am not here out of any ill will."

"Stan..." Liza said, still whispering.

Elijah answered her unspoken question.

"I've compelled your downstairs neighbor to let me in, but I mean no harm to him or his wife, either. In fact, I'm sure Stan went back to watching that show with Martha, his wife." His words didn't waver once, sounding dry and flat. As an afterthought, like the man from another time that he was, he added: "I heard that it was…"live." They're casting votes now as we speak..." He glanced over his shoulder down the stairs.

"So, what do you want?" Ollie questioned him. Liza saw that knuckles of her hand on the doorknob were white.

Elijah didn't approach any closer, the space between them roughly four feet. "I know that my coming here, forcing an invite through your landlord, makes the situation look far worse, but I can assure you that I am not here in hostility-"

"Answer the question," Ollie snapped. Her eyes remained yellow.

The vampire glanced once more at Liza, who was hugging Ramsey tightly. "I'm here because of your friend—Elizaveta Belov," he pronounced her name slowly and properly. "I was told that she might be of some importance to myself and my family." He hadn't hesitated once in his explanation, but he knew very well how it sounded. Ridiculous.

Ollie stared at him. Liza looked downright panicked. "What do you mean?" the latter asked. Then, louder out of fear: "What do you mean?"

Elijah raised his hand again, a placating gesture. "When I came here, to Chicago, looking for you, I didn't have the slightest idea as to why you were important, and I still have no idea why. But back there in that alley, when you knocked me back, without touching me, using what I can only presume as magic, I believe that perhaps," he narrowed his gaze, searching Liza's frightened face, "it may have something to do with you being a witch."

At that, she sprung to her feet. Alarm rolled through her, the distress she now felt past the point of making her cry, and in turn, it seemed to rile up Rams more, who tried to wriggle madly. "I don't practice any-anymore. This has nothing to do with me!"

The shorter girl looked as Liza backed away from the doorway and yanked Ramsey with her.

But instead of telling him to leave, Ollie took a step past the threshold, into the hallway. "Listen, she _really_ doesn't practice." She crossed her arms under her ample chest, right over the word _Kiss_ on her apron. "Who told you about her?"

Ollie blocked the doorway now, or she tried to. Elijah could see past the top of her head to where Liza still stood, bent sideways, keeping the dog back. The girl was covering her mouth with a bandaged hand, looking anywhere but at the door. Her eyes threatened to fill again. Ramsey _ruff_ 'd but stopped pulling at last. He was looking up at her, at Ollie and then at that bloodsucker in the hallway.

"Bare with me, please. Olympia, is it?" Elijah asked. Taking Ollie's heated silence as a yes, as she raised an eyebrow, he went on: "This will sound farfetched even for people like us." He took in a breath. There was no time to be wasted while they were humoring him and giving him a chance to explain.

"Several weeks ago, I received a call from a boy in Los Angeles. That boy is a psychic. In fact, perhaps either of you might have heard of him—he's on television, apparently—but that detail is irrelevant. This boy, whom I've never met, called my cell phone number, which I seldom give out, if ever, to anyone other than family and those closest to me." Elijah looked from Ollie to Liza, who reluctantly looked back at him.

"This boy, Benjamin Henry, told me that he was woken up in the middle of the night in order to pass on a message from a spirit. That spirit told him how to contact me, and mentioned the name of a girl, in Chicago, who is of great importance."

He spoke with such deliberate gravity that neither girl said anything, just listened to him. He didn't move a muscle, besides his mouth, as he related his story. Rain drummed in the background.

"Elizaveta Belov—it took me a while to find you," he looked at the girl now, and spoke gently, "I had no idea who or what you might've been. I only knew that I had to discover these things for myself."

Liza swallowed, trying to gather some courage, her voice thick. "I have nothing to do with vampires."

Elijah briefly licked his lips, searching her face, holding her gaze steady so that she wouldn't look away. "The spirit mentioned my family's… "malady." Which could've only meant our vampirism."

Liza was shaking her head, waving her hand. "I don't kn-know what the _fuck_ you're talking about."

Elijah looked back at Ollie, who held her wolfish instincts at bay, still. Despite the full moon, which passed, she seemed to be well in control of her own abilities. "Perhaps it would be better if I were to come in and explain everything inside…" he suggested.

"Mm _-hmm_ ," Ollie began to shut the door. Elijah took the smallest of steps forward. He was still utterly polite, but his voice hardened just enough, his patience thinning.

"Truth be told, the permission Stan gave me to enter the building includes permission to enter your apartment, so I could simply force myself in. But I believe manners go a long way, so I am asking, respectfully, Olympia, if I could come in. I could tell you the rest inside."

"Ollie," Liza began fearfully.

Ollie raised a finger at the man. "No, you're staying right here. If you compelled our landlord, then that means he's not going to bother us. Where's this psychic boy? Back in L.A.? Is he even _alive_?"

Elijah's facial features shifted tightly. He looked offended. "He is—very much, I can assure you. I thought that you would need evidence." His gaze flicked to Liza briefly. The expression on her face wasn't exactly like the one she had when he'd saved her, back in that alley, but the distrust, the fear, it hadn't left.

He tried not to let it bother him. "I don't blame you for not believing me, not at all. Which is why... we shall FaceTime young Benjamin right now." He took out his sleek black iPhone out from the inside of his suit, underneath his coat. Despite catching the rain, the phone still appeared to work.

Without technology these days, this wouldn't have been possible, right there in the hallway of the two-story apartment building, on this stormy spring night. If it weren't for cell phones and video chatting, there wouldn't have been a way to convince the girls, let alone Liza, whom he'd come for. Elijah hadn't been certain that his phone still worked after all the rain, but it did, so he just silently counted the few blessings he had then and there.

Brows arching high, Ollie looked slowly back at Liza and opened the door wide again, even stepped side so that Liza would see better. There was no point in commenting about how bizarre and screwed up this was because it was happening whether they wanted it to, or not.

When the vampire took another step forward, he was pressing a finger on the glass screen and turning it around so they could see while FaceTime dialed up. Ramsey whined as he neared the door. If anything, his presence made Liza feel safer. The bandaging of the hand that held the dog by the collar was loosening and probably needed to be redone, but it didn't matter for the moment.

Elijah's phone reflected the foyer, the wolf girl, and the witch behind her, through the front-facing camera. And it rang. And rang.

The man looked away, tensing. Was the boy not going to answer him? Granted, Elijah gave him no warning, but now would've been the worst time for Benjamin not to answer. Clearing his throat, Elijah turned the phone back to him and looked down at it, exasperated, staring at it. If he was a less patient man, he would've easily crushed the device in his grip.

Ollie crossed her arms. "Looks like your little psychic isn't picking u—" As she met Liza's gaze with her green one, the dial tone cut off, the call was answered.

There was the sound of rustling, making the speaker _shhh_ with static. There was movement on the screen. Then Benjamin's young, boyish face showed up. The red-haired boy, who was barely an adult, was somewhere where it was dark. Nightfall had already come through the west coast.

"Oh, Elijah, it's—it's you," he had started nervously. Through the screen, he looked back over his shoulder. There was the sound of other people. It looked like the kid had stepped away from something. There might've been music too. The noises were hard to discern. And because it was dark, the quality of the video feed wasn't great. "Sorry, just—just, uh, having dinner with the president of, uh, _E!._ "

Elijah didn't waste any time. "Yes, I'm sorry to bother you, Benjamin, but I need you for a couple of minutes." He glanced up at the girls before raising the phone, looking back at the kid. "You see, I'm with the girl, whose name you gave me, and I need you to confirm everything you said to me. Right now. Please, if you'd be so kind."

"Right n-now?" Benjamin repeated, the awkward smile leaving his flushed face. "O-OK. Uh…."

Elijah turned the phone back around, and Ollie quickly leaned off of the door. Looking at the vampire, she said, very seriously, "Come in, but I'm fucking warning you, if you do anything…"

Benjamin probably heard that because he chuckled uncomfortably again.

"Warning noted," Elijah said shortly as he started stepping inside, holding the phone out.

"Uh, um, Eliza-Elizabeth?" came Benjamin's voice. The boy saw Ollie in her _Kiss the Cook_ apron, blinked.

Ollie waved her hands and moved beside her distraught friend. "Uh, no, I'm Ollie."

Elijah didn't move far from the mat in front of the door, mostly because of the dog—he didn't want to come near the antsy, hateful beast. The man briefly turned the phone toward him to say: "This is Elizaveta, Benjamin."

With Ollie taking hold of Ramsey, Liza rose and straightened. Elijah turned the screen back again.

"Actually, call me Elizabeth," she said quickly. Recognition flashed in her eyes as she saw the psychic boy, for she _had_ seen him on TV before, but she didn't bother saying this aloud. If anything, it was startling—Elijah hadn't lied about this part. Her heart thudded behind her ribs.

"Elizabeth. Hi," said the boy with exaggerated friendliness. He had moved somewhere closer to a window. They heard the dull sounds of cars, wherever he was in L.A. It was not raining there. "Call me Benny."

Even though she was now unable to look Elijah square in the eye, with him only a few feet away, and in her home, Liza realized that he had wanted her to take the device, for he stretched his hand closer to her. So gingerly, she took it so that Benny could see her better. Seeing the small square that reflected her own image back at her in the bottom corner of the screen, Liza knew that she looked like she'd been ridden hard and put up wet.

With the beat of silence that passed between them, Benjamin probably saw her state, but he didn't comment on it. He cleared his throat and went on. "OK well. So...Elijah said he needs me to confirm what he, uh, probably told you? Yes, OK, so, well, I'm a medium. I communicate with those who have crossed over." He said this without laughing this time, his usual spiel.

"OK." Liza wrapped her free arm around her middle, glanced quickly at Ollie. Resigned, the dog gave an annoyed huff and sat back on his haunches. But his attention never left the vampire.

"And...a little over two, almost three...weeks ago now, a spirit visited me in the middle of the night and…"

Benny glanced over his shoulder. He started moving away from the window, stepping somewhere else, somewhere more secluded, Liza could only assume, and the already-poor lighting dimmed more.

"What?" she prompted the boy.

She watched as Benny looked to one side, then to the other, then slowly focused somewhere other than the camera. The expression died on his face. He had a weird look in his eyes. He made a small noise in his throat like he was clearing it. With his free hand, he ran a nervous hand through his hair.

The boy's gaze jumped back to his screen.

"I, uh, um," he brought the phone closer to him, there was a rustling sound, the speaker sounding fuzzy as he spoke too close to it, gasping, "The spirit is here right now!"

Ollie looked at Elijah, deadpan. Elijah simply waited, patiently, and focused on Liza, the phone, and Benjamin's voice.

"Oh my God," Benny whispered, "I am so _not_ ready for this right now. I am so not ready. OK. Shoot. Fudge. OK."

Liza clenched her jaw, breath bated. She didn't say anything.

Again, Benjamin was looking around him, side to side, breathing into the speaker. A moment that seemed too long, too heavy passed. Ollie was soon scoffing like this was a load of bullshit.

"Liza, _eta huynyá_ ," she hissed. _This is bullshit._

Then, Benjamin closed his eyes. His breathing stilled.

"Val-Valerie—Valer _ia_? Does that name ring any bells?"

Liza blinked. She was as white as a sheet. Her hand, which held Elijah's phone, gave a shake. She looked anywhere but at it—a small puddle of water on the floor. Her throat suddenly dry, she mumbled her reply. "She was...my grandmother."

Benjamin opened his eyes, looked at Liza, who was looking away, glancing at Ollie behind her. She too looked stunned, now. The atmosphere inside the apartment was so thick, it was hard to breathe, at least for the girls. Liza's breathing turned shallow, her pulse quickening. Elijah took a small step to her. Ollie tensed, shooting him a glare.

The boy went on, speaking so fast, it was kind of hard to keep up: "OK. Uh, she—she's the spirit that sent Mr. Mikaelson—Elijah—to find you. Did she pass recently? She says this is important. She had to tell you this. She didn't have a chance when she was still alive. She says...she hadn't spoken to you in a long time? I'm sensing a...disconnect. Oh, she was in Russia. Is that right? In Russia."

Liza exhaled sharply out of her nose. She glanced at the phone, back at her friend, and lastly to Elijah, who was looking at her so intently, like he was trying to see into her _soul_ , trying to read her _mind_ , that Liza's eyes watered and in the next second, she was shoving the phone into his chest.

"I...I'm not-" she said, trying to find words. She backed away from the vampire. "I can't do this. This is bull—Ollie. I don't _need_ this!"She waved her hands to fend all of them away. Elijah, the kid on the phone, even Ollie—the whole wide world, which felt like it was closing in on her. She was gasping, panicking. Elijah watched her, not knowing what to do, not knowing what was happening to her. Did he make this even _worse_?

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry," Benjamin said. The vampire looked at his phone. "Elijah, the spirit is here, and I gotta pass it on. That girl needs to help you—uh, somehow. Wait, hold on—OK—this is weird. This is _so_ , uh—OK—this will sound so darn _crazy_ —"

Ollie was splitting her attention between the kid's bumbling and Liza, holding her free hand up to her, reaching to her. Liza kept away from them.

Benny went on, sounding more befuddled than any of them: "Something about power, uh, _powers_? Elizabeth was supposed to...inherit some kind of _power_? That doesn't sound right. Is that supposed to sound, right? Doesn't sound right to me."

"Is that all, Benjamin?" Elijah asked shortly. He kept looking at Liza, who stood like an deer backed against a wall.

"Something about birthright. I don't know, the rest is in...another language? I can't understand it. I'm sorry. And this spirit is going too fast. I'm trying to make sense of the emotions I'm getting. The-the images I'm getting." Then, there were voices, actual human voices. Benjamin cut himself off, looked away quickly to whoever was there that found him. "I'm sorry…. I'll be right there!" Back at his phone, quickly, he tried to sound apologetic but was failing: "Fudge, the spirit is gone now. Can I call you back, Elijah? Tomorrow? I'm sorry. I have to go. I have to get back to the dinner. You can text me any time. I'm sorry."

"Benjamin—" Elijah said, to stall him.

Then Liza pointed at the phone, furious: "I am _not_ doing this."

The call with Benjamin caught off as he'd hung up. A muscle in Elijah's cheek visibly jumped. He lowered his phone to his side and looked at the witch. Calmly, somehow still patient, he asked, "Did you know what any of that could mean?"

Liza looked at Ollie, incensed. Ramsey pulled toward the man.

"Your grandmother?" Elijah prompted.

Liza met his gaze, through tears. "I said am not fucking doing this!" she said. "She's fucking dead. What did you not get?"

Elijah, a frown spreading across his face, said, "Elizabeth, I am so sorry…"

Unable to remain there any longer, she spun around and rushed to her room. Ollie called after her. Once Liza was inside, they heard the door slam shut. Taking that as her cue, Ollie began to rush Elijah out of the apartment.

"You need to go, you fucking asshole."

"Did _you_ understand what that boy meant?" Elijah asked her urgently, even as he moved backward out of the apartment.

"Yes, I understood it. Liza's grandma died six months ago back in Russia. It was sudden." As Ollie started toward him with Ramsey, he backed through the hallway. "Her grandma was a witch too, and Liza hasn't practiced in a couple of years. Now get the fuck out before I make you, and don't come back, fanger."

With another frown that came from guilt, Elijah hesitated.

Ollie snapped. "Go. Get the hell out of here!" And she let go of Ramsey.

Before Ramsey's maw could shove its way out with the rest of him, Elijah actually jerked with startle. Ollie slammed the door closed. Through it, the dog barked. Elijah heard the turning of all of the locks and then as Ollie shouted for her friend. Her footsteps receded into the apartment, while Ramsey remained, ever the guard dog. He dug at the door with his claws. So, that left the vampire with no choice but to do just as Ollie told him—to leave.

Inside, Ollie had been about to rush into Liza's room, but she had forgotten about the food, and with a, " _Blyat_ ," which meant _fuck_ , she rushed to the kitchen to see if the pasta hadn't swelled past the point of being eatable.

Meanwhile, Liza sat on the edge of her yellow bed, gripping the mattress. She wasn't sobbing anymore. She silently cried that type of way in which a person cried when he or she was numb to the core from a paralysis that was both physical and mental. Her teeth were clenched shut and she stared at the wood floor in front of her bare feet, goosebumps traveling up her bare arms. She swayed forward and backward.

This night couldn't have gotten any worse. The clock on the wall, one of those fake, old-timey clocks a person could've found in a _HomeGoods_ store, read five minutes to midnight. She heard footsteps, and Ollie was then opening her door. "Are you OK? He's gone, Liza. He's gone. And Ramsey won't leave the door all night, I'm sure of it."

"Can you-you bring me some water?" Liza diverted, her voice thick and miserable. "Please." She hung her head. "I need some water, Ollie. Please."

The wolf girl nodded and hurriedly left back to the kitchen to get a glass. Hearing the beeping from the fridge and the water filter whirring, Liza dug in her nightstand. Ollie heard the telltale rattle of pills before she even returned to the room.


	5. Way Down We Go

The soft waves of the lake were cold, but Liza stepped into the water regardless, her feet bare. Goosebumps traveled up her legs. The chill was bearable. She was in a simple, light-colored gown, almost something that was worn to sleep, and it was sleeveless. The breeze that blew was a little warmer, rustling the fabric and the loose hair on her shoulders.

Her feet carried her into the lake of their own accord. Behind her, it was night, and ahead of her on the horizon, the sun was rising ever so slowly, a dark red line where the water met the waning night. The weak glow was enough to silhouette three figures in the water. Two men and a woman.

They stood with the waves lapping slightly above their waists; albeit, the water reached just under the woman's breasts because she was shorter. She stood between the other two. All three were dressed in black gowns.

They looked like they had been in a funeral procession, at least that's what Liza thought. She approached them, looking through her eyes but feeling outside of her body somehow, having no control of it. The water soaked her own dress. Soon the chill abated, and she didn't feel the cold at all, just the ghosting touch of the lake against her body.

When it reached as high as her ribs, she stopped. She took a pause to regard the people. Their faces were shadowed as the light of early morning outlined their own bodies. Liza couldn't tell who they were.

Still, her feet carried her, the sand soft underneath her bare soles. She approached the man on her left. He seemed to follow her with his eyes, which might've been several shades lighter in color to her own, or maybe it was because of the smirk that tugged one corner of his mouth. It lit his gaze. Liza followed his eyes down and saw that the water now reached her own breasts. That's where his attention had gone. That impish smile grew.

The other man and the woman looked on, the former's expression, from what she could tell because of the dimness, was anything but one of amusement. The smiling first man began to lower farther into the water until he was mid-chest level. Liza, feeling nervous, hesitated, then raised a hand to the back of his neck. Seemingly knowing what to do, the man began to lean back, with her hand there at the base of his head.

After the water reached his neck, all but his head disappeared into the lake. He floated in its blackness. His eyes locked on Liza's own, which were above him. His gaze caught a bit of the rising sun, and the irises were indeed light. Maybe in daylight, his eyes were blue, or green.

The smirk had gone. He shut those eyes of his, and then his face too was submerged. Liza let him go. The water had swallowed him whole. He didn't rise back up. Her heart had given a lurch inside her chest.

Next, she moved to the woman to do the same with her. When Liza had quickly looked back to the spot where the first man had been, there was still no sign of him. She wondered if he'd drowned, if _she'd_ drowned him.

The woman was of her height and had locks of light-colored hair that cascaded down her neck and back like silk. She smiled softly at Liza, sinking, her dark garb dissolving into the lake. Liza held her behind her head, her hand under that thick, blonde mane. The woman's hair haloed her in the water like dark bronze. Then she was also swallowed up, leaving just a ripple in her wake.

She did not rise back again, and her body was not below the surface, for Liza walked straight through the place she'd been in. The last man remained. As Liza neared him, she thought that he looked familiar now.

His dark hair matched his dark eyes, which regarded Liza with a strange tenderness as she moved to his side. As she raised her hand a third time, the man began to descend. Water seeped into his clothes, up his chest, until it was just below his collarbone, and he slowly leaned backward. Her heart floundered again.

She kept his head afloat, gazing down at him, wondering where she'd seen him, why he looked familiar, and why he was looking at her like that—with an unexplainable fondness. She didn't know him. At least, that's what she told herself. At the back of her mind, somewhere far, there was a flutter of recognition.

And yet, the other two had been total strangers. She'd never seen them in her life. This man—she'd seen his face before.

"Liza," he said. Her name sounded like velvet as he spoke it—to jar her out of her thoughts, to pull her out of his depthless eyes. Her other hand met his clean-shaven cheek, very lightly.

Suddenly, she remembered who he was. That vampire. The image of him in the rain, in that alley—her unexpected savior—flashed in the forefront of her sight. Fear gripping her, she pushed him into the lake. When he disappeared, she moved away—as quickly as she could through the water, back to the shore. Even with the flow of the waves, it was slow going.

She fell into the water twice and began to shiver badly, soaked. She didn't look back, didn't hear anyone behind her, yet still she felt that paranoia of needing to hurry, of possibly being chased. Ahead of her, west, Chicago's skyline was there, glowing with a million stars, lighting up the night, which hadn't quite retreated yet. Lake Shore Drive wound along the shore of Lake Michigan.

When Liza finally reached the shallow end, pushing more easily through the water, she looked back at the horizon and saw no sign of the three whom she'd plunged into the depths. They hadn't gone back up for air. It was as if they'd never been there at all. Her dress clung to her when she fell upon the sand, gasping, resting on her knees, shaking but feeling safe. She watched more lights move along the street ahead—even in the early morning, cars still drove from north to south and vice versa.

As she watched them go, she thought that she saw horses on the road too—trotting solo or in pairs, sometimes in fours. She thought that she heard the dull clopping of their hooves, and whinnies and snorts from their muzzles. Entranced by the lights, she decided that they didn't come from taillights within the front of vehicles, no. They came from oil lamps that hung from carriages. The horses pulled these carriages. And large wheels ground against the gravel, not asphalt.

And yet, the skyscrapers of the future still stood behind Lake Shore Drive. Somehow, two completely different centuries came impossibly together. It was as if they'd never existed apart. It was as if they belonged, both in color, twinkling with yellow specks.

She hugged herself and watched, not knowing for how long, or how short. There was a soft splash behind her.

She noticed that the shore, the sand, began to gain color—a deep orange. Turning around, holding her breath, she saw that the sun began to stretch upward there under the sky. And the lake started to glow. The water was stirring.

She was frozen in place. Something—some _things_ —began to rise up from the waves. Three bodies. Having been submerged, they now also glowed. They were revived. They were new. They were reborn. They wore white now, too. As if Liza had baptized them.

Their arms were spread, their attention on the girl, who was on the shore. They were smiling. The sun enveloped them. Liza had to shield her eyes. She watched them between her fingers, squinting until her eyes began to water and then she couldn't see them at all, the sun was so bright. It was rising so fast now. She hadn't realized that she was being lifted off of her knees until someone moved her hands for her.

Her retinas burned. Brine leaked out the corners of her gaze. Whoever was there, holding her up—she forced herself to see.

Her sight was blurry at first. She rubbed at it to clear it. A face, a man's face, with bright skin and piercing dark eyes, gazed at her. He had a strong jaw, and she noticed a small birthmark on his cheek, under his left eye. The color in his gaze revealed streaks of a rich brown in the light.

Liza, with her cheeks wet, realized that it was Elijah.

###

The first night after the incident in the alley, the storm, and the vampire's arrival, was hazy, and Liza slept well into the next day. Ollie had off from work, so she kept watch. The vampire hadn't come back. But there _had_ been a crime scene investigation up the street, while it continued to rain. Ollie stayed away from that but saw on the news, and if there had been an evidence trail that led down the street to their quaint graystone, the rain had washed it away. Or maybe the vampire took care of it, as they often did.

Liza didn't leave her room except to use the bathroom. Ollie obligingly walked Ramsey, as she often did anyway. Between doing various menial tasks that _she_ needed to get done during her off day, and making sure that her friend was still breathing, she managed to get Liza to eat a few times.

It helped that Ollie was a self-proclaimed gourmand, and her food was better than those served at most restaurants—at least that was the biased opinion of most people who knew her. Borsch might've been awfully stereotypical to make—like chicken noodle with Americans—but Ollie's borsch was, in fact, hard to trump.

The key was the meat—Ollie got hers from a butcher. In this case, it was sirloin. The warm, delicious aroma of her cooking lasted an entire day.

After eating some of the deep red soup, Liza had promptly buried herself back in her bed, under the covers, and went back to sleep. Unbeknownst to her, Ollie had taken the bottle of Xanax away. But after taking it twice during the night to calm herself after a fit of nightmares, Liza hadn't reached for it, again, anyway. Ollie let her be for the most part. Liza had called off work at some point, feigning sick, and aside from Liza's mom calling, no one else bothered her.

" _Ya zaboléla_ , mama," she'd told her mother. _I got sick._ It wasn't, however, hard to project a miserable quality in her voice.

A storm was rolling through the Midwest. Elsewhere through the state, there were power outages and tornado warnings. In the city, it was very much sleepy, don't-wanna-get-out-of-bed weather. Aside from when Ollie was in the kitchen, Ramsey hadn't minded at all when Liza kept him hidden in her bed right along with her. Akitas could be surprisingly lazy.

His owner's sleep had been peaceful one moment, and then turbulent the next. Rams withstood the tossing and turning, and the occasional, accidental hit upside the head with her foot—even though he was jarred awake each time.

Liza always had vivid dreams—this wasn't new. But the nightmare after nightmare that played inside her traumatized mind was an occurrence that hadn't happened in some time. Not since… Well, not since her grandmother had died.

At first, she saw the alleyway and her two assailants, replayed the moment many times over until different outcomes blurred together, but several constants remained: She was still assailed each time, forced toward that car, which loomed ahead like a shadowed monster with big, white eyes, and Elijah still arrived.

Sometimes, he had failed at stopping the men, and she had reached inside the car, which was smelly, and garbage-filled, with stenches of smoke, sweat, and booze. There were cigarette butts and used condoms, and her mind had even conjured some other girl's bra and panties on the car floor. All before Liza had found herself waking up altogether. Fortunately, any rape that she'd thought would happen to her hadn't happened in her nightmares. However, all of it was terrifying, nonetheless.

Other times, she was the one who'd gotten the two guys off of her, had used her power to kill them, and then had knocked Elijah back before he could even get to her. One variation included Elijah's own death—a piece of wood had gone through his chest when he'd crashed into the trash cans. He'd died. She'd stood over him in the rain, feeling triumphant.

Then she dreamt of her grandmother, saw visions that were most unbearable. The dreams had Liza waking up with her heart jackhammering inside her chest. The old woman, Valeria, was alive another nightmare, yet shouldn't have been, and Liza hadn't realized it right away. Her father was there, Valeria's son, and it was he who pointed out the rotting smell that was coming from his own mother. They'd been sitting on a couch somewhere, which her grandmother had stained with putrid, bodily juices. The smell was so real that Liza felt nauseous when she woke up.

In a similar dream, her grandmother was, again, alive. It had been a parallel universe, not Liza's own, yet so real. They'd drank tea and ate pastries when Liza paused, looked up at her grandmother's face, and it was frozen, like a statue with blank eyes.

Another dream showed a family crypt that didn't exist in reality, with little graves around the stone building, and inside, piles and arrangements of bones, lay in grids, tiny candles burning for each of the dead. Members of her family who were alive walked through aisles, dipped fingers in ash, tasted them, and told her to do the same. Grief could conjure the most bizarre visions.

Russian witches did not have crypts, did not have awful rituals for those passed, and they certainly didn't consume the remains. Liza woke up, feeling the chill of sweat, and hugged Ramsey tightly until he grunted sleepily, and she buried her face into the thick red fur of his neck. Whether it was day or night, it was hard to tell, because her curtains were drawn, and the rain and dark clouds obscured the sun.

The dream of the lake, the horses and carriages, and the three figures, one of whom was Elijah, didn't occur until the next day when Ollie had to go to work. Liza had called in sick again. There could've been a risk of being fired, but the girl didn't care, not right then. The strange dream, which was very much unlike the other ones, had Liza waking up a little past noon.

It was still raining, for she heard the drumming on her window. Listening to it, she had lain in bed, the dream still fresh and vivid in her mind—particularly Elijah's face, how clear his features were, all of the details, details that she hadn't noticed that other night because she had barely been able to look at him.

She felt disturbed, more disturbed from this dream than those that replayed the attack in the alley, or the obscurities about her grandmother. There was another feeling that she felt—one which she couldn't quite explain. The sight of Chicago's skyline and the carriages was particularly mesmerizing, but the whole procession in the lake had perturbed her.

In the dream, she had known what to do and yet hadn't known why she did what she did. When the three people had come back out of the water with the rising sun, Liza didn't remember being afraid, nor was she scared when she saw Elijah's face so close to her own.

 _###_

The third day, with Ollie working again, as it was a new week, Liza left her room. That day, it no longer rained. The sun had come out and brightened the apartment several shades. The streaks of light cast a warmth through the windows, stripes across the hardwood. Ramsey followed Liza into the kitchen, where she drank a glass of water, and he waited for her to fill his food bowl after. While he ate, she went to take a shower.

In the bathroom, she tried not to look at herself in the mirror. But this did prove to be futile because after she'd turned on the shower and waited for the water to heat up, she caught a glimpse of her pale face, dull eyes, and the overall sad expression of someone who had just wallowed in misery for two days straight.

Although the incident in the alley was a duller memory now, it was still fresh, as was the rest of it. She just couldn't remain shut inside her room any longer.

Perhaps it was that dream that had changed something in her, had pulled her out of bed. It helped her diverge her thoughts away from that stormy night. She replayed the strange baptism, and unlike most dreams, the specifics didn't fade away—from the faces of the other strange man and woman; his smirk, her blonde hair; the glow of the oil lamps against a backdrop of skyscrapers; to Elijah, how he smiled in the sunlight.

The uneasy feeling never went away, but the longer that she thought about it all, the more Liza believed that every detail had been a sign, perhaps. As uncomfortable as she felt, it was like she was stepping into a river that was going to flow ahead whether she wanted it to or not, and there was nothing that she could do about it. She'd once been taught to look at signs.

She couldn't decipher any of it—if there was anything to decipher.

After her shower, hair still damp, Liza leashed up an ecstatic Ramses and took him outside. He pulled her down the stairs, hard, and when the warm spring air greeted them, he quickly stepped into the plants in the small front yard and had a very long piss.

Feeling bad, Liza took him onto the street. He deserved a long walk. And somehow, the daylight made her feel safer. She went toward the Bryn Mawr train stop, then turned toward the lake. It was a shorter walk than normal, just a few blocks-worth around the taller residential buildings, but it was long enough that Rams was panting by the end, tongue flopping out. He had marked nearly every tree, fire hydrant, and even a few blooming flowers.

Liza felt marginally better by the time they neared their home again. Once they were back upstairs, she would fix herself something to eat and would figure out how to put her life in order after being absent from the world. But no sooner had she made the plan in her mind than Ramsey halted in his tracks, two houses away from their graystone, and her breath caught. The dog looked across the street, his normally-curled tail flattening.

She didn't want to see what he saw, who was there, tried not to, but it was hard. Before she could stop herself, she turned her head. A nearby tree and its branches briefly blocked her view, but as they moved with the wind, there she saw him.

Elijah. But how? Out in daylight?

Stunned merely by _that_ , Liza stared at him, and he gazed back at her, his face neutral. The thought that her mind was playing tricks on her did, very briefly, try to assure her that this wasn't possible. When she glanced away, she hoped that when she looked back, he would be gone. But when her gaze returned, he was still there, standing across the street on the sidewalk. A few people passed him.

Because Ramsey was now _ruff_ 'ing, Liza knew this was no delusion. And so, she turned sharply and yanked her dog after her. She did not look back once. She took them home. She convinced herself enough that they were safe inside, even though apparently the vampire didn't need further permission to enter the apartment. And he could be out in the day.

Once at home, she released Ramsey from the leash and slowly moved further into the place. She put her hands on the back of the couch, gripping a cushion, in the middle of the room so that no one on the street below could see her. She watched as Ramsey, wound up, paced, whining, looked out one window, then moved through the apartment to look out the others.

She stood there, watching the Akita, for a good, long fifteen minutes, very still, trying to decide what to do. Whether to text Ollie at work. Whether to just stay inside, lock all the doors, and to keep away from the windows. Whether to just crawl back into bed, underneath the covers and not to come out.

Liza did ultimately go to her room. Part of her really did want to lock herself up again. Instead, however, she went to her dresser and rummaged through the second drawer and found a small, lacquered black box among mostly-folded shirts. A scene out of a Russian fairytale was painted on the lid. A box like this was as common as those _matryoshka_ dolls tourists bought, but this one was special.

When she found what she needed inside of it, she left. The girl clutched a necklace in her palm. A silver chain dangled between her clenched fingers. Ramsey, by the front windows, watched her take her keys again, where she'd left them on a small table by the door along with the dog's leash. She was leaving again.

Obviously, he wanted to go with her too, but this time Liza said, "No. Stay here." Her pulse thudded in her ears, and yet some sort of determination gripped her. She opened her hand, and a crystal, about an inch long, hung off of the chain.

It was a shard of titanium aura quartz. A thin, silver wire held it securely to the chain, wrapping around the crystal halfway. Even though the stone had uneven ridges and was cut far from perfect, it was still beautiful—it shone blue, green, purple, even yellow, in the light, like an oil slick.

Liza did not put it on around her neck, but she did stuff it inside her pant pocket. The girl briefly looked inside the little closet in the foyer. She took out a dark blue, knee-length trench coat, deciding to put it over the henley and jeans she wore. Maybe the high collar, a la Sherlock Holmes, would make her feel more secure—a coat that would cover most of her body, at least. Or maybe Liza was just grappling at finding something else to make her feel safe. More like ease her mind.

That is if the vampire was still out there. If he wasn't, she'd immediately go back inside. If he _was_ still there, Liza would stomach any fear for the sake of that dream. She was following her gut now. As she descended down the stairs and looked out the front door, she half wondered what Ollie would do.

No time for that. Liza's thoughts were frantic. She stepped out, wrapped her arms around herself, and looked up at the swaying trees that lined the street. She paused to ground herself in the scenery, to take it in again. Ramsey was already at the bay windows above, watching her, alert. It was a particularly breezy day. The trees' leaves and other plants were lush after the rain. The air smelled of a coolness that carried from the lake.

Looking across the street, she saw that Elijah wasn't there after all. Shocked by this, she just stood there, in front of her building, for a long moment, and held herself tighter. She wasn't sure whether to feel stupid—maybe he _had_ been a figment of her imagination because vampires _weren't_ supposed to walk in daylight—and to turn back, or whether to wait and just see what would happen.

She looked down the sidewalk, up the street, north, where she hadn't gone during her walk with Ramsey. Then, she looked the other way, where the majority of cars were, just a little way down—the busy intersection in front of the El station that took her to work in downtown.

She saw a group of people, who were distinct enough in color by what they wore. She watched them. They all went in opposite directions. None of them were Elijah, even as a man walked in her direction up the sidewalk. It was not him, for this guy was in sweatpants, a red Loyola University shirt, and had a bag on his back.

She started turning back to go home when she saw the vampire up the other way, which had just been empty. The sight of him made her gasp, even as he was a good fifty feet away. Her gaze quickly darted to her graystone, its door. It was that _thing_ that his kind did, snuck up on you like that. She hadn't met many vampires _at all_ , but everyone knew the stereotypes.

The girl remained in place, glanced between the vampire and the graystone again, back and forth, for Ramsey was started to make noise.

When Elijah got within hearing distance, words tumbled from her mouth. She said, "My dog doesn't like you," with a matter-of-fact tone, which she forced upon her voice.

Elijah didn't answer right away, if only because he wasn't expecting her to say that. "Yes, well, I've never been a dog person," was his cool response as he slowed to a stop, not too close, not too far from her. About seven feet away.

Liza looked down the street again, squinting in the wind, even though rationally she probably shouldn't have taken her eyes off of him. "Ramsey doesn't like most men, so it's not too surprising," she said.

Elijah briefly glanced to where she was looking. He put his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He wore no coat today, just another black suit, this time with a gray shirt underneath and a darker gray tie, which wouldn't stay still and whipped about. That college kid with the backpack neared. Both stepped out of his way as he passed.

Liza looked anywhere but at the vampire's face, which was too real, too much like that of her dream.

A ring that he wore caught her attention. It was on the middle finger of his left hand. It had a small, circular stone in it, which shone blue. She recognized it as lapis lazuli. She knew the properties of most minerals and crystals. Did _it_ allow him to walk in the day? Different stones did different things, much like the one in her pocket, which she touched idly. Lapis lazuli was used in complicated spells.

Elijah decided to change the subject as he returned his eyes to her. "I honestly didn't think that you'd give me another chance."

Liza did a doubletake. Now she hadn't expected him to say _that_. She wasn't going to tell him about the dream, didn't even consider it. Crossing her arms again, she started walking away from her place and toward the intersection and the train station—to the _people_. People equaled safety. Usually.

"That night...before—with those two men," she started.

Elijah walked with her in stride. His voice softened just slightly, but enough for her to notice. "I wish I arrived there sooner."

"You killed them," she said flatly.

He hesitated but then said, "Yes. They're gone."

Liza nodded. Maybe if she was a better person, more selfless, she'd tell him that he shouldn't have done that—taken their lives—but she would've been lying if she said she wasn't grateful. Before Elijah had gotten there and saved her, she had thought she was doomed. Those two guys had just been too strong, their strength combined. She wasn't exactly muscled, far from it. Women being cornered at night when they least expected it—it was the sort of thing you heard about but never thought would happen to you, too. Until it did happen.

Not looking at Elijah, she said quietly: "Thank you."

He hadn't expected that answer. An eyebrow raised a bit, and he asked, "How are you feeling now?"

"Fine," was her short reply. Her gaze was wary as she watched him out of her peripheral vision. She opened her mouth, then closed it, stumbling over her words now. Her heart rate wouldn't slow down. "I don't know how to help you."

He was watching her. She wouldn't dare meet his gaze for longer than a split moment. Vampires could compel witches. As they passed the residential homes, nearing busy Bryn Mawr Avenue, she thought that they couldn't get there fast enough. She spotted a bench up ahead by _Nookies_ , out in the open, so to speak, without any trees or bushes shielding it from view. She started leading them in its direction, whether he'd want to go there or not. She didn't care to ask.

She heard Elijah behind her: "I was hoping that we could figure that out together." He caught up with her easily, seemingly not minding the change of direction. "Your grandmother…" he started carefully.

He was polite, she'd give him that. It did make this easier, but it also _didn't_ because Liza still couldn't look at Elijah square in the face. He was intimidating. Maybe it was the suit. "She was crazy," she replied dismissively.

"How so?" Elijah's voice was as breezy as the air.

Liza slowed her pace several feet away from the bench, looking out into the street, hiding her face, her tone hollow. "She had a hard life, after the war. I mean, World War 2. Her birth father tried to commit suicide. She married an asshole, my grandfather. She was the only witch in the family. Back in those times, religion wasn't the only thing outlawed. She kept it secret for most of her life."

Elijah, on the other hand, regarded her steadily. "I can only imagine. It was one of the worst periods in human history. I remember it."

Liza couldn't help but scoff. "Of course, you do." Unable to retract her retort, she looked up at him and then lowered her eyes. If she offended him, he didn't show it. Unwinding her arms, she stepped around the bench to take a seat on the very edge.

Elijah leisurely walked around the other side. Liza sighed and looked down at her lap, then went on: "Her life is a long story." Out of the corner of her gaze, she saw him sit, leaving enough space between them, for which she was glad.

The girl licked her lips, narrowing her brows, and continued: "But I was the only person in our family, my dad's side, who showed any signs of-of magic, after she did, and when she tried to teach me, when I was a child, people didn't let her. She said a lot of crazy things, and I didn't end up being good at it, anyway." Her expression was very serious, very Russian. She had an angular profile, a sharp chin and a sharp nose, which had a slight bump. She intertwined her fingers in her lap. They were cold, despite the warm temperature.

"Magic?" Elijah prompted her.

"Yes." She looked at the street, squinting, for the sun had come out fully behind the white clouds.

"How so?"

She tried hard to sound detached. "My education was pretty bad. Also, my mom's side of the family is religious. I think you can put two and two together." She wrung her fingers, her body tensing. She went on before he said anything: "So I don't know how to help you, Elijah. I'm sorry. I have no idea why my grandmother would say that I am...I am _destined_ to help out you and your family—because I can barely levitate a glass of water without having it break. When I knocked you back in that alley, I didn't mean it."

"It was instinctual, I know." Elijah sounded sympathetic, truly. He lifted his elbow on the back of the bench.

Liza kept looking ahead. Emotion hardened her voice. "I can't control my power even if I wanted to. I haven't practiced in a long time, and lately… Well, lately the only thing I'm good for is making Ollie that wolfsbane so she doesn't bite my head off twice a month."

This made Elijah tense. "Are you really safe with her?" he asked, quite concerned.

And now, Liza looked at him. She met his gaze at last, wondering if she should be offended. "Yes. Am I safe with _you_ now?" she responded without thought.

"You're right. You hardly know me," the man said without missing a beat.

Perhaps it was the wave of distrust that emboldened her. "No, I _don't_ know you at all," she said. "And you _don't_ know Ollie."

Elijah was first to break their eye contact—as if accepting defeat. He looked somewhere at the ground before them. "I apologize, my kind has always been at odds with your friend's. I should give her the benefit of the doubt since that is what you're giving me right now."

A moment of silence. Liza studied him, her breathing shallow, her blood still thrumming in her ears. She tried to spot deceit beneath that contrite exterior of his, tried to spot any evidence of something, a vibe, perhaps, that suggested ulterior motives, anything disingenuous. She couldn't find anything. He looked genuinely...genuine.

Elijah's gaze returned to hers and then she looked away. "How many family members do you have?" she asked.

"Alive?" He looked up at the sky, squinting. "A younger brother—his name is Niklaus. And sister—she's the youngest. Rebekah."

Liza unclenched her hands, which were clammy. "Where are they?" she asked with less heat. In the dream, there were two others, a man, and a woman, along with Elijah. That made three.

"Elsewhere," he said quickly. "They won't bother you, I promise."

"Only you are, right?" Liza quipped dryly.

He caught her side glance. "I'm...the more rational one of the three of us."

She turned her head the opposite way, the wind blowing the ends of her hair, which were still damp from her shower. She took in a deep breath. Their civilized conversation wasn't relaxing her.

"Listen, Elijah, even as you try to assure me that nothing is going to happen and that you just want to find out what I'm supposed to be capable of, how I could help you and your siblings," she tucked her hair behind her ear, casting another sidelong glance, "don't tell me that I'm safe and that everything is going to be fine, because I'm not naive."

Again, that guilt shone through. Elijah even frowned as he quickly said, "I never said that you were."

Liza went on, not yelling, but with passion in her voice. "I was safe _before_ I met you, before I saw you at my work and you bought that tea from me. I was getting by. Ollie and I were living our lives—roommates—minding our own business. She had her shit, I had mine, and now we could be involved in something that we don't want to be. And if we really don't have a choice, if _I_ don't have a choice, don't try to sugarcoat any of this. Please."

He saw the emotion in her brown eyes, the same depth that he saw when he'd watched her the first night after she was done with the dishes and the train had gone by as she stared at it. But now her gaze was filled with unease. He noticed that she was clenching the edge of the bench. "I apologize. I won't," he said softly.

Liza made fists in her lap. "I don't want anything to happen to Ollie or those we care about. I don't want anything happening to _me_."

Elijah turned in his spot, fully facing her. "I cannot promise that your lives— _yours_ especially—will go back to normal any time soon, but I promise you, Liza, that I will keep you safe, to the best of my ability, while we figure out what exactly you are capable of."

"You and your family are...vampires," she said pointedly.

"I frighten you." It was a statement, not a question.

"And did you think otherwise?" she scoffed again. "You can rip my throat out at any time."

"I won't do that."

"I'm sorry. I...don't believe you. Even-even after you saved me." She was standing up, breathing hard, her chest rising and falling underneath her coat. She looked down at the vampire, his unfathomably deep eyes swallowing her up, figuratively. She noticed that he did have a birthmark, a faint one, underneath his left eye. She shuddered outwardly.

After the beat of silence that was ushered in between them, he said, "You will have to trust me."

She said nothing, her heart having skipped a beat. Elijah narrowed his gaze slightly, as if he was trying to see inside her soul again.

"And perhaps, you should start practicing," he added lightly. Then in a lowered tone: "Magic, I mean."

Liza tore her attention away from him. "Maybe. I'm going to go."

And not knowing what to say next, what to do, she just started walking away, unable to gather her composure. She should've stayed inside. Her hand slid over the front of her jeans, feeling that crystal, wondering if it had helped at all to have it on her.

The vampire watched her go home. He'd heard her heart the entire time. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't block it out. He vexed her. Maybe he even scared her anew. And he didn't blame her. He completely understood. He didn't, however, understand what got her to leave her home so courageously. He hadn't expected her to step outside again, to meet him. He could only imagine that her emotions were all over the place.

He knew that he _had_ made a mistake, or...then again, maybe he hadn't. The girl hadn't called him out on his watching of her. It was probably one of the things that unsettled her most. He knew he shouldn't have let himself get caught by her goddamn dog again. Then again, it did allow them a conversation, hadn't it? Even though it was too late to take anything back, maybe this was a good thing.

She disappeared past the trees. Between the branches, not close enough for the human eye, he saw her walk inside her graystone. He fixed his suit jacket as he stood from the bench. Then before he had time to react, he heard a voice behind him.

"So, this is why you're here, brother—because of a girl."

Elijah closed his eyes briefly...before turning around to face Niklaus, who spread his arms, a grin on his face. Watching his older brother's priceless expression, Klaus stepped toward him, clasping a hand on his shoulder. Elijah scowled at him.

"And here I thought you preferred ladies with PhDs, or...librarians. Don't know what to make of _that_ one." Klaus looked down the sidewalk, in the direction that Liza had gone. "Do tell me what has you intrigued about her. Must be something _certainly_ one-of-a-kind if it has you here in this city longer than necessary."

Before Elijah could knock his hand off, Klaus quickly took it back, chuckling, and looked around the street. The sun that beamed down on them made Klaus' hair shine like gold. He was dressed in a light brown leather jacket, matching boots, expensive of course, and a plain dark green t-shirt underneath that had costed way more than necessary.

Elijah's face was blank. "How did you find me?"

"Oh, Marcellus texted me a few days ago," Klaus answered cheerfully. Then dramatically: "You _do_ know what texting is, right? It's where you type—anything you want, really—into your phone, and you can send the message to someone, and they receive it instantly, even add animated pictu—"

"I'm busy," Elijah cut him off. "And it's _not_ what you think, Niklaus. Why don't you go see your progeny, and I'll meet you later?" He glanced away, sounding vaguely distracted there at the tail end.

Klaus cocked his head and raised his voice as if he was offended. "What, I can't come see my big brother first? Isn't saying "hi," to you just slightly more important, Elijah?" Klaus reached toward him again, but Elijah caught his hand mid-air, annoyed.

"Niklaus, I'm not in the mood. I need you to stay out of my business."

"Ouch, that hurts," Klaus said, his blue eyes shining in the sunlight, yet narrowed. Elijah released his hand.

Impatient (which he mostly was when he was around his little brother), he stepped past Niklaus when his gaze had gone back to where Liza's home was. "Brother, I rarely ask anything of you. I need you to leave me alone. Just this once."

"But I haven't seen you in ages!" Klaus went on, a smart ass.

Elijah shoved his hands into his pockets. "It's been only a few months," he said, unconcerned.

"Do you know how badly I've missed our little adventures?"

"No," the older Mikaelson said curtly.

"What's this "business" you're attending to if it's _not_ actually how it looks like?" Klaus persisted, "If you're _not_ really stalking that girl. Does she live up _there_?" He tried to see past his brother again, but Elijah put a hand on his chest this time and pushed him back.

"I will fill you in only when the time is right, Niklaus," Elijah said firmly. Klaus rolled his eyes.

"Oh, whatever."

Elijah took him by the upper arm, face close to his. "I promise. The situation is delicate as of right now."

A cheeky smirk tugged the younger brother's face. "I'm sure it is...quite delicate indeed, dear Elijah."

Elijah raised a finger of his other hand, took in a breath, and opened and closed his mouth. As he regarded Niklaus, searching his face— Hell, who was he kidding? Would Niklaus stay away? It was like telling a terrible little boy _not_ do something, which would only prompt said boy to do exactly what you didn't want him to do. In that respect, Niklaus was insufferable.

He yanked his arm from Elijah's grasp, all the mirth gone from his face. "You are prat."

" _I'm_ a prat?" Elijah said incredulously. He looked at the busy street, past the people, not anywhere specific, really. Then with a sigh of resignation, he said, "Look, Niklaus, that girl could be very important to us. Important to our family."

Klaus finally looked serious. "All right. How?"

Returning his gaze to meet his, Elijah admitted, "I don't know yet."

Niklaus threw his head back and laughed. "That's because you were stalking her," he said. "Creep."

"I was _not_!" Elijah trudged past him toward the intersection. Luckily, Klaus followed him and didn't go to where the girl was, caught in another fit of laughter. He put his arm around Elijah's shoulders, only to have his big bro shove him away.


	6. Mum's the Word

Hi guys! I am resuming this story. I'm so sorry for dropping it suddenly, a while ago. Life happened as it always does, and to be honest, my muse left. But now it's back. Perhaps it's the end of the series. But I did miss Elijah, Klaus, and the rest of the gang!

I wanted to post a longer chapter, but at the same time I was impatient with myself and just wanted to post a new chapter. I'm working on the next one and I hope to update again soon. I hope you like this one. I'm proud of it. I'm really looking forward to continuing the story. I originally had an outline, but I've changed some things. Perhaps, it was a good thing that I'm revisiting it now. I realized how to make the story better, more exciting and effective. I hope that you guys will end up agreeing. There is lots more to come!

If you like, please review. I'd love to hear your thoughts. Knowing people are reading always spurs me further. But even if I know only a couple of people are reading it, I'll be motivated to continue. I really want to get all of my ideas into words! I promise you won't be disappointed.

Till next time!

###

The sun was setting. It was a beautiful sight. The skyscrapers of downtown, the direction of which they were walking in, were silhouetted with a deep orange. The light glinted off cars that sped down Lake Shore Drive. The lake itself was darkening, but the rays hadn't disappeared just yet, so Niklaus still had his sunglasses on, a pair of classic wayfarers. He and Elijah were strolling along the lakeshore path. Bicyclists and joggers passed them on the left.

"I've got an idea," Klaus began dramatically and didn't wait for his brother to prompt him to go ahead, "Why don't I book a redeye flight to Los Angeles and pay a visit to the little psychic boy, snap his neck, and you take care of the witch? Or, you can wait for me, and I can help you since there's her werewolf roomie to deal with, too. At least, you and I will get some fun out of it."

Elijah had ended up telling his brother most of everything. The cat was out of the bag, so to speak. Klaus had left him with no choice after he'd showed up by Liza's apartment.

"We will do no such thing," Elijah said sternly.

"It seems to be the best solution," Klaus argued.

"It is not. _Absolutely_ not. You will kill no one. We will kill _no one_."

"Witches and their prophecies. They never go right, 'specially when our family is concerned, so the best thing to do is get rid of the prophets. Have you learned nothing over the years? _This_ is how you deal with them, Elijah."

Elijah hardened his voice like the scolding older brother that he was. "That boy is innocent. He was just delivering a message. Killing does not get rid of it. In fact, all that killing will accomplish is setting the spirit off—and it's a witch's spirit, no less."

Klaus rolled his eyes, which then followed a fit, young woman who was jogging past them. She had a nice, tight ass, even though he didn't comment on it.

"So, what do you propose we do?"

"What _I_ wanted to do was monitor the situation—to do things _my_ way. And you know, this wasn't really a prophecy. There were no eloquently written words, as there usually are. It was just a message, which connected this girl to our family."

"Right, which involves _me_ , brother. And Rebekah. How long did you plan on keeping this from us?"

It was Elijah's turn to roll his eyes. "As long as I saw fit—until I knew more about it."

Klaus turned a glare on him. Elijah ignored it. "You had no right."

"Well, now you know, Niklaus. I don't want to argue about this. If you were a more rational person, I would've probably included you in on this from the start. But alas, all of your actions in the past have proven otherwise. You don't think before you act."

"I don't need an analysis of my personality," Klaus snapped.

"Then don't ask me why, if you already know the reason," Elijah said coolly.

Klaus was silent for a long moment, his fists clenched at his sides. He watched the people around them through his shaded glasses, looking from a pair of adults and their toddler, who was running across the grass, giggling; to an elderly couple on a stroll, hand in hand. How cute. A group of bicyclers passed. The momentary distraction of listening to heartbeats and pumping blood at various rates helped calm him. Elijah indulged his brother's silence as long as Klaus needed it in order for his mood to level out.

"Perhaps one of us knew this girl's grandmother at some point," he suggested eventually.

Elijah answered in stride. "I've thought of that, but I did not recognize her name," the older brother said. "No witches from the Soviet Union jog my memory. What about you?"

"I've only spent time in the satellite states—and Moscow, of course. And after the fall, it was a clusterfuck." Klaus smirked at the memories of the time he had spent in the early 90s. "Perfectly chaotic. Humans, reveling in new-found freedom, made their blood taste especially ripe."

"I meant during the height of the Soviet Union," Elijah clarified.

Klaus glanced at him. "No. I tried to avoid post-war Russia. The scenery was quite boring...and I don't like military regimes."

"So, nothing jogs your memory either."

"No, I suppose not," Klaus said indifferently. He stopped all of a sudden, looking at something across the grass. Elijah followed his line of sight.

Klaus was looking at a group of people doing yoga, a group of twenty. Smirking, he watched. Elijah paused beside him but didn't let his brother's thoughts carry him away, thoughts which were morbid more than likely.

"Are you going to meet with Marcel?"

"Later," Klaus replied distractedly. The group switched to downward facing dog and he was fascinated. Yoga and the meditational arts were something that had never interested him, though. He didn't have the temperament. But there were mostly women in the group. Their asses were in the air.

"I'll join you," Elijah said, watching him watch them. Instead of answering his older brother, Niklaus returned to their previous subject.

"So, if this girl has no idea what the spirit of her dead grandmother meant, then how will you go about finding out?"

Now who looked like a stalker? The yoga enthusiasts switched to the cobra pose and those asses clenched up. They didn't notice that they had an audience of one. Elijah resumed walking. Klaus had no choice but to follow him, albeit a few seconds behind. He caught up with several long strides, huffing impatiently.

Elijah answered once he was beside him again. "I don't know yet, but I do know it entails keeping the girl alive." He'd left out the part of the spirit's message that had mentioned their family's "salvation," because he had no idea what to think of it and knowing Klaus—he would jump to his own conclusions. "Perhaps we need to find a way to contact the spirit again."

"I was just about to suggest that, Elijah. Perhaps the girl herself can do a séance, and we can all sit in a circle and hold hands."

"You're being a smart aleck, Niklaus."

Klaus spread his arms in a shrug, a hint of a smart-ass smile on his face. "I agree with you. Let's go back and see the girl. Her bedtime isn't in a couple hours, right?" He looked at his wristwatch.

Elijah dismissed the idea. "We are not going back tonight. Let's go meet with Marcel. We'll see the girl another day."

Klaus deflated. "Why not tonight?"

"There is no immediate urgency," Elijah answered simply.

Klaus hated when his ideas were shut down. "Do you not want to find out why our family should give a shit about this girl?" he questioned.

"We will bide our time and we will go about this rationally," Elijah explained. He had to be patient. _They_ had to be patient. He also didn't want to rile Klaus up. Elijah wanted him to understand his reasoning. "I need her to trust me first, and right now, I am far from that goal."

Klaus couldn't help but turn mocking. "She doesn't trust you, Elijah? Why, this is a surprise. You're usually good at building trust with humans. And you said you saved her from a couple of rapists, didn't you?"

Elijah sighed. "Also, that same night, I had barged into her home, questioning her about her grandmother. Liza lost her a mere few months ago. Of course, she doesn't trust me. And her roommate even less so."

This perked Klaus back up, gave him an idea, which Elijah saw brewing behind his sunglasses. "See, that's why you need me. The wolf girl. I should talk to her. I can get her to trust me. She'll see that we're…basically kin."

"Not quite, Niklaus, and you know it." A hybrid wasn't the same as a werewolf.

"Ah, but I am handsome and charming."

"Charming when you want to be," Elijah emphasized. "Let's cross to the other side through there." He gestured to the pedestrian underpass they were approaching. They'd walked around the whole of Lincoln Park and were nearing the Gold Coast.

"Yes, and let's get a cab," Klaus agreed.

"I was thinking we'd walk to Marcel's. It's a beautiful evening, and downtown is magnificent at night." Elijah loved his walks, he really did, and he couldn't get enough of the city. Klaus, on the other hand, wasn't a talk-a-walk type. Walks didn't exhaust him—he just didn't like them. Plus, he was being difficult. And sight-seeing wasn't his thing. He much preferred Europe, if he had to pick, like the city of Paris. He was very much a snob that way.

"I honestly don't know why you like this city," he groused when they entered the tunnel, which was lit by yellow bulbs. It was empty, save for a dog walker going in the same direction ahead of them.

"I don't know why you don't," Elijah returned.

"Well, it's the Midwest, first of all. I hate the Midwest." Their voices echoed slightly.

"You should've been there at the World's Columbian Exposition. It took place here in 1893. It was a marvel. I was with Rebekah. She enjoyed it immensely with me."

Klaus felt like he had to one-up his brother. " _I_ was at the Exposition Universelle in Paris four years before that. The Eiffel Tower was its grand opening. I highly doubt this place had anything more impressive than that."

Elijah didn't fall into the trap of possible argument. Niklaus loved to argue. It was draining. "I'm not trying to compare which city is better, brother. I'm just explaining why I love Chicago."

"Good for you," Klaus said shortly. He just wanted to get to the other side of Lake Shore Drive.

"Rebekah and I met H.H. Holmes," Elijah said lightly. "But the most exciting part was seeing all of the new inventions in action. You know, during the course of our long lives, we tend to miss the little details that might not seem so important in the moment. For instance, electricity was used to power the fair, did you know? And the "clasp locker" was first introduced." Elijah could tell that his brother was tensing as Klaus quickened his pace, trudging ahead, and this was amusing, but Elijah kept his smile to himself. "That was the predecessor to the zipper, Niklaus."

"How fascinating," he said flatly.

"Many artists exhibited too," Elijah said matter-of-factly.

There was one thing that had peeked Klaus' attention. "Did you say you met H.H. Holmes? The murderer?"

Elijah pretended that it wasn't such a big deal. "The serial killer, yes. What about him?"

Klaus looked back at him. "Did you kill him?"

"No," Elijah said. "Why would we? It would've been too easy. We did give the human authorities a few leads on him, however."

"It's said that he killed more than 200 people, even though he confessed to killing 27," Klaus said. He was a fan of serial killers. In a way, he was one himself, if he was in the mood. Naturally, humans that had a lust for blood and murder intrigued him. Sometimes, they even impressed him.

When they got out of the tunnel, he took his sunglasses off, put them on the edge of his collar, and shoved his hands into his pockets. Finally, something interesting to talk about. Elijah humored him.

"I always had a theory about Holmes," Klaus was saying.

They made their way south. Cars on Lake Shore Drive whooshed past. The sun was almost set by now. The Gold Coast was a neighborhood filled with mansions, row houses, and high-rise apartments. It was historic and once compared to Manhattan's Upper East Side. Elijah looked up, taking in the buildings as if for the first time, marveling at them, while Klaus explained his theory.

"I believe that he was the Whitechapel Murderer. Now, I tried to find out who he was myself, at the time, to no avail. At first, I thought that he was like us, but the blood of his victims was never drained. He was without a doubt human. And I believe that I almost found him once. I chased a man. The bastard narrowly escaped on a boat that was headed toward America.

"I'm not the only one with this theory, you know. Many disprove it. But their shortcomings result from a lack of _understanding_ the two men. Their killing styles were different, sure. The Ripper was a messy, unorganized. While Holmes was calculating and clever. But what I know about humans is that they are forever evolving, slowly, but evolving nonetheless. Perhaps it's one of their few positive traits.

"The Ripper was able to evade capture, did he not?" Klaus didn't actually want an answer, though Elijah simply nodded. "He was even able to outrun me. Means he wasn't a complete idiot. He could've very well gotten smarter. He was young then. I could tell. He later could've become the architect of the "Murder Hotel.""

"Interesting theory, Niklaus," Elijah said. "Could be possible, perhaps."

They continued walking. Klaus didn't bring up flagging down a taxi. He enjoyed hearing himself talk, and he knew that Elijah was a good listener and would listen to him. And this way, Elijah got his walk, so it was a win-win.

###

"It seems that you've established yourself quite well here, Marcellus," Klaus said, smirking. It was his way of expressing praise. He was impressed with his progeny's new pad and position with the Chicago vampires, but he wasn't going to say this directly. Klaus also wasn't sentimental, so when he saw Marcel that night for the first time in years, he'd gone for the mere clasp-on-the-shoulder. Marcel was a hugger. He'd been affectionate since he was a little boy.

It wasn't that Klaus wasn't happy to see his progeny, his "son." He just didn't get all emotional. Marcel, meanwhile, regaled him and Elijah with what he'd been doing in the city over a very fine scotch. They sat comfortably on the large, modern suede sectional before the large, floor to ceiling windows.

Marcel had a gorgeous view of River North. It was an area north of the loop, full of fine dining, galleries, and a lively nightlife. Tall buildings stood all around—boasting regional offices of companies such as Google, Yelp, and Motorola. Countless lights lit the streets outside.

The condo was modern and had two floors, a spiral staircase leading up. The walls and ceiling were white. The floor was a sleek, light brown wood, and the décor was very contemporary. Marcel was always more modern than the Mikaelsons. Sure, he appreciated the old world, but he was the one that stayed up to date with the times. He had the latest everything.

The kitchen and living area were connected, and other rooms branched off from them. There was a loft space upstairs with a glass railing, but the bedrooms were hidden. The wall behind Marcel had a massive collection of records. The opposite wall had a large flat screen and stereo system.

"I'll go back to Nola eventually, but I'm going to enjoy my time here right now," he was saying, his arms spread on the back of the couch.

The brothers were on the longer end of the sectional. Elijah sat with his knees crossed. Klaus was sitting somewhat like his progeny, completely relaxed, only with one arm on the couch, not both. Elijah didn't seem too easily impressed, but that was fine with Marcel. He could tell that Klaus was proud.

"As I was telling Elijah the other day, Chicago runs like a well-oiled machine. There's no curfew for the vampires, but there are strict no killing laws. Those that break them get punished accordingly, but honestly, if you follow them, you otherwise do whatever you want. Klaus, more scotch, my man?"

Obligingly, Marcel stood and reached for his maker's now empty glass.

"Why thank you," Klaus said.

"Elijah?" Marcel looked at the older Mikaelson.

"Still savoring this one. Thank you," Elijah said as he glanced down at the bit of liquid bronze left in his glass. Marcel went around the couch to the bar tucked into the wall by the records.

"It's good for a 30-year Macallan, huh?" He grinned at them both. Pouring Klaus a new glass, he went on. "So as I was saying, the vampires mind their own business, the weres mostly roam the suburbs, and the humans are in the know if they need to be. They got a helluva lot of their own issues to deal with. We stay away. If one of us intervenes, there's got to be a good reason for it. Daylight rings are allowed. If you got 'em, you got 'em. If you don't, you don't."

"What is it that you're working on, Marcel?" Elijah inquired.

Marcel returned to them, handing Klaus his glass and sitting down with a refilled one of his own. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and eagerly answered the question. "Right now, we're making sure the blood bank operation goes smoothly. It's with LifeSource. The CMO is one of us, and so is the COO. Believe it or not, only 40% of the vampire population actually hunt in this city. There are plenty of willing donors, but a lot prefer blood bags nowadays.

"LifeSource gives the option of getting the blood without having to compel anyone at the local collection center too many times. Draws zero attention. The company provides free delivery to your home, or wherever you're staying."

"You've memorized the sales pitch," Klaus teased with a chuckle, taking a sip.

Marcel grinned and leaned back. "The council members—they wanted me to take over PR." He also took a sip, looking carefully from brother to brother. "So I accepted the offer. I told them I'd stay for a couple years at least. A decade or so. Of course, I have to do well. But they like me here. They like how I'm with people."

"You always were a smooth talker, Marcellus," Klaus said with a faint air of affection. "But I always thought you had an interest in law."

"Well, there are some similarities with PR. Strategy for one. Predicting outcomes, making sure all your bases are covered. And you know what, I like working with the public. I like being around people. Our kind. Doing some good."

Klaus looked over at Elijah to see what he thought—Elijah listened, one eyebrow slightly raised—before looking back at Marcel. "I raised you well, didn't I?" he said boastfully.

"You had some help," Marcel said. His smile all the way up to his eyes, which looked at Elijah over the rim of his glass. Elijah nodded, his own dark eyes flitting over to Klaus. "Don't give yourself all of the credit, Klaus," Marcel said. "Your brother had a hand in it too."

Klaus scowled dramatically. "Elijah gave you your schooling, while I made sure that your childhood was well rounded in other ways. Right, Marcel? Did I not? Who did you get your charisma from? Why, me, of course!" Marcel threw his head back and laughed, a warm laugh, compared to Klaus' slightly maniacal one. "And all of those endless talks about life as I passed on my invaluable wisdom to you."

"All right, all right," Marcel conceded.

"Depends on your definition of wisdom, of course," Elijah commented.

Klaus thumbed at him. "Imagine if it was he who raised you. You would've turned out to be smarter, sure, but what a prude you'd be!"

"Intelligence don't make one a prude," Elijah said pointedly. He finished his glass but simply held the glass in his lap.

"Hey, now, I'm smart. I did go to law school," Marcel argued, chuckling. He was standing again, ever observant. "Let me get you that refill, Elijah."

As he went about doing so, he listened to his maker.

"Of course, you are, my boy. What I mean to say is that I'm glad you turned out more like me and less like my boring brother," Klaus said, a jab in his voice, which was directed to his brother, who shrugged it off his shoulders, his gaze drifting across the condo. Klaus liked to ball-bust at other's expense—nothing new.

Marcel regarded them over his shoulder, at the bar, still smiling. He was an expressive man. Since he was much younger than them, he might've been more human than either them, figuratively. But it was also his personality. He was honest and genuine. He certainly had an egotistical side as most vampires did, and could be quite vicious, but he also wasn't bothered by showing his feelings.

"I missed you two. It's been too long," he said, returning with Elijah's glass.

Klaus didn't echo the sentiment, but he raised his own glass in a toast. "Far too long. Here's to our unexpected reunion, my son."

Elijah gave a somber nod. "It's good to see you doing well, Marcel," he said, sitting forward. He always carried himself unaffected, but Marcel knew his words were genuine, and they meant a lot to him.

Standing before them, Marcel held out his own glass to clink with theirs. "I hope you two stick around for a while."

The three drank. After, Marcel decided to put on some music and went to the record player. As he did so, he changed the subject. "So, what is it that brings you guys to Chicago anyway? Elijah mentioned business."

Elijah was quick to gloss over the answer. "Nothing important. Just some matters," he said and stood. He wanted to see the view out the window and approached it, looking at the lights, the street below.

"Something like that," Klaus added cryptically, and his gaze twinkled, mischievous. He reclined in his spot. "Really, I had no idea about these matters until earlier today," he confessed.

Elijah's back stiffened.

"My brother wasn't going to tell me about them. I had to pry it out of him. Really, they concern me, too. The whole family, actually. Perhaps even you, Marcellus."

Marcel had turned on some light blues, which he kept at a volume that would allow them to continue to talk. He turned around, first looking at Elijah, who'd looked back at them, standing at the window, appearing absolutely disapproving; then Marcel looked at Klaus, who seemed like his diabolical self.

"It doesn't concern him, Niklaus," Elijah said, caution in his tone. Marcel knew it was serious when Elijah used Klaus' full name. Marcel's obsidian gaze bounced between them. He took a drink.

"What's going on? Something serious?" he asked lightly.

"Potentially," Klaus said.

Elijah had spoken over him. "No. Nothing to worry about, Marcel."

Marcel spread his free hand, as if to placate him. "Hey, if it's not my business, that's fine. Not trying to pry. I was just wondering what my adoptive family was up to."

Klaus was encouraged by his words, however, much to Elijah's chagrin. "Niklaus," he started.

Klaus cut him off. "Elijah found himself a witch," he explained brightly. "He's been watching her for the better part of the week, as a matter of fact." Marcel's gaze jumped to Elijah, who scowled. Uh oh.

"This doesn't involve him, Klaus."

Klaus looked at his brother over the back of the couch. He stood up, then, facing him. "It could, Elijah. He's family, after all. Besides, you said it yourself, you don't know why she's important to us. I say that Marcel should know. He could be of great help."

Elijah's hand was tight around his glass, not enough to break it, he wasn't a drama queen, but his knuckles were white, and he was restraining himself. "Klaus, you simply cannot help but run your mouth."

"Yes, so the cat's out of the bag," Klaus said smugly.

Marcel stepped toward them, his hand still raised, palm out. He didn't want them fighting. He hadn't done anything, but he was feeling culpable already. "Hey, I can keep a family secret. You know that. I won't say anything to anyone."

Elijah looked at him sharply. "Yes, I know, Marcel, but that's beside the point. I told my brother that this is something I was handling. And since the situation isn't clear yet, there was no reason to involve anyone else." He slowly looked back at Klaus, his expression hard and reproachful. "He's always had a fear of missing out. He simply cannot help it."

" _I_ think Marcel can _help_ us," Klaus repeated, raising his voice a few notches. The smile on his face turned tense as he approached his progeny and put an arm over his shoulders. "Perhaps not right this moment, but he's got connections in this city now. Chicago is his playing field. We're merely guests here."

"I want you to feel at home," Marcel assured him. Klaus kept looking at Elijah, trying to provoke him further.

"Come now, brother. Don't be cross with me. You think I can't keep my mouth shut, which may be true. In this case, I simply made an executive decision. It's only fair, since you hadn't been planning to tell me at all. Let's let Marcel in on our little plan and tell him about the psychic boy and the spirit."

"Psychic boy?" Marcel repeated.

Klaus turned his head, his arm still around him. "You watch television, don't you? I haven't got the time for it, but you must've heard of this lad. Apparently, he's got quite the gift if he's telling all manners of actors and celebrities their fortunes."

Marcel drew his brows together. Elijah had turned away, raising a hand to his forehead, his index and thumb fingers pressed against respective temples. He needed a moment, it seemed like, to compose himself. Klaus grated on the nerves. Half the day spent with him was already enough to bear.

"Are you talking about one of those reality shows?" Marcel clarified with a laugh.

"Yes, yes, those," Klaus said, gesturing with his glass. "One of those real-life series."

"Are you talking about….?" Marcel was thoughtful for a beat, grinning. "Are you talking about that kid? That ginger kid? What's his name?"

Klaus didn't know how he looked like, so he regarded Elijah, who didn't answer. He was downright aggravated and avoided Klaus' attention.

"Damn it. I can't think of his name," Marcel said. Klaus let him go, taking a swig.

"Benjamin Henry," Elijah said at last, grudgingly.

Marcel snapped his fingers. "That's him. I love that kid. I saw some episodes. Like that one when he's talking to the Kardashians."

"Who?" Klaus asked, raising his eyebrows.

"You know. The Kardashians. As in "Keeping up with the Kardashians.""

Silence. It didn't seem like it rang any bells with Klaus, so Marcel just waved his hand.

"Never mind. What's Benjamin Henry got to do with you?"

And so Elijah was forced to tell him. Klaus wasn't going to. He didn't know the details. It was all up to his brother. Klaus sat back down on the couch, satisfied and triumphant, and Elijah remained standing and pacing. He began with the psychic boy and the spirit, explaining as levelly as he could, only wanting to explain this once. He left out details, which he hadn't mention to Klaus, but Elijah said enough so that Marcel could wrap his mind around it.

Afterward, the bottle was almost finished. The young vampire spread his arms and said, "Let me know how I can help."


	7. Unwanted Guests

_This story is being resumed! I apologize wholeheartedly about the hiatuses! Life happens and inspiration wanes, but after catching up on Legacies, I realized how much I miss the Mikaelsons and this story. I will do my best to continue it at a reasonable pace and to preserve my muse. Making fanart and photomanips helps me a ton. I usually post them on my tumblr, which is_ _russianspy24dottumblrdotcom_

 _I really hope that old readers return and aren't too mad at me for the long ass break. I also hope to maybe get new readers. Either way, I'm going to continue because I haven't forgotten this story. It never left the back of my mind, which says something, because other stories haven't had good track records with me._

 _Unfortunately, my American Horror Story "Last Resort" is in fact abandoned. There was just something daunting and weird about writing about the Anti-Christ and I couldn't stay in the mindset. I know I got a lot of followers with it, and I apologize, but that's just the truth. I suppose I just prefer vampires._

 _Favs are amazing, and so are follows. Comments are gold but aren't mandatory. In any case, I just appreciate knowing that people are reading. Lots of love! Already working on chapter 8._

* * *

The daycare was ordinary. It was a one-story rectangular building that could've once been a Verizon Wireless store or maybe one of those family owned furniture stores. Now, colorful paper cut outs of flowers, trees, bunnies, and bumble bees were stuck to the glass of the large windows. The sign above said _Children's Land_. The blinds were partially open, revealing rooms with kids. Children were also playing outside in the fenced-in area to the side of the building. The area had a playground, a small field of grass and a cluster of trees. The parking lot was empty mostly, as it wasn't time yet for the parents to come retrieve their offspring.

Three adults, who were women, monitored the kids outside. One of them was Ollie, who was the youngest. The other two women were older.

It was a sunny, noon spring day, warm enough that hats or scarves weren't needed, but jackets remained on. A child with a runny nose came running to them and said, "Miss Ollie, Miss Ollie, I need a tissue."

"That's not how we ask, Jake," she said pointedly.

"Please can I have a tissue?" the boy amended with a sniffle.

"Yes, you can." Ollie squatted and produced a plastic pack of said tissues. She raised it to the four-year-old boy's nose and said, "Blow," and he blew with all his might and she nodded curtly, saying, "Good." After she made sure he had no more boogies, he lingered.

"I'm hungry," he said with a whine.

Ollie stood and looked down at him with a raised eyebrow, her fist with the tissue at her hip. "Lunch is after playtime. Twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes?" gasped the boy. "But that's soo long away."

The other two ladies chuckled like hens.

"Be patient, Jacob," one of them said. The woman was the tallest and rail thin with white hair. "Go play."

"But…" the boy pouted.

"Go on, buddy. You heard Miss Tonya." Ollie gave the boy a mock-stern look, which he took very seriously, and then turned around to go back to the other kids.

"A look from you, they march away," the third lady said, shaking her head. She had short, graying red hair. She also had a thick Eastern European accent.

Ollie grinned and pocketed the crumpled tissue and the rest of the package inside her cargo jacket, giving the woman a sidelong glance. Ollie's dark hair was up in a ponytail, loose strands fluttering in the wind. "My kids fall apart when I leave, Marfa," she sighed dramatically. "I come back and they're demanding and whining."

"We have to watch our kids _and_ yours. What do you expect? They had substitute for four days," Marfa said.

"Hey, I didn't go on vacation," Ollie countered.

Tonya nudged the younger woman with her elbow. "We know, we know. We just like to give you a hard time."

"My Timofey said the _compote_ you shared with the pack was better," Marfa said. "Better than last month's. Is it new recipe?"

Ollie tilted her head, looking thoughtfully at the playing kids. "I don't know. Maybe? Maybe my friend Liza said she added more honey in it. I have no idea. But yeah, it was better."

"Well, whatever she did, Tim said to continue making it like that. I know wolfsbane takes like _zhopa_." _Ass_.

"There's nothing you can compare it to. It burns your mouth like it's on fire and takes like _gavno_ ," Ollie said to Marfa. _Shit._

"What's the difference?" Marfa said.

"Trust me. You should be glad you don't know," Ollie said with a raised brow.

Marfa's husband was like Ollie, and Tonya's in-laws were a part of the pack, so by default, she was, too. The kids ran around like puppies, chasing each other. Every kid's family was associated with the suburban wolves in some way, whether directly or indirectly. Some were from American wolf families.

Ollie knew how lucky she was that the daycare was so accommodating. It was like one huge family of sorts. She wasn't necessarily invited to every christening, but the ties were unbreakable. Most people couldn't be a lone wolves.

Tonya went off to reprimand a couple of boys. Marfa went to take a little girl to potty. Ollie stood alone in the shade of the building and watched as two more little girls brought her a small bouquet of dandelions. It was impossible to linger in the mental clusterfuck of the full moon that had just passed—not when around children. Ollie loved them. No matter what mood she was in, they made her happy.

She raised the dandelions to her face, brushed them against her nose. The wind stirred, a cool breeze, promising summer around the corner. The air here wasn't as clean as it was where the pack went during their time of the month—the sparsely populated area north of Rock City, by the Wisconsin border—but it was still pleasant.

With the breeze carried the blooming scent of the trees, the smell of the clouds, and the avoidable exhaust of cars on the street. Ollie's gaze followed the notes in the breeze and looked to the cars that passed. Her stomach grumbled. She was hungry for lunch, too. Most wolves had huge appetites, whether or not the curse was triggered. As much as she loved to cook, Ollie was going to make a quick run while the kids napped to get Marfa, Tonya, and herself sushi across the street.

The joint was small and quaint but had the best maki rolls—in her opinion, anyway. One of those hole-in-the-wall places with a big Buddha by the front and a neon flashing sign that said _Sushi!_ It was usually busy during lunch. They had specials until 4 in the evening.

A man sat at the front windows with a clear view across the street. He was sipping hot sake, which wasn't half bad, popping edamame into his mouth and dropping the shells into an extra bowl that came with. He was gazing out the window casually. He looked like any of the other patrons that came in to have lunch solo.

"Your Chicago Crazy roll, Viking roll, and the Moonlight roll," said the waiter, who finally brought the man his food. The arrangement was on a large flat white plate that was decorated with some kind of soy glaze.

"Thank you, and another large sake," the man said. He'd already finished the first karaf and tossed the last small ceramic shot back. He didn't look remotely buzzed. He seemed to have a high tolerance.

However, the waiter didn't comment and simply bobbed his head, taking the karaf away and going off to fetch a new one.

"Let's see if these are any good," the man said. He had a distinct English accent. The Moonlight roll in particular had slices of radishes on each piece. They resembled the sphere that hung in the sky at night. How clever.

Knowing how to use chopsticks like most people, Klaus picked up one of the pieces and popped it into his mouth. With an expressionless face, he chewed. When he swallowed, an eyebrow quirked up. "Not half bad."

He forewent the soy sauce and directed his chopsticks straight to the round glob of wasabi that had been provided next to the ginger slices, and picked a pea-sized amount with the tips of the wood. He proceeded to try the rest of the rolls when his new sake appeared, and he distractedly thanked the waiter, waving off his, "How are you liking it so far?"

Klaus started to feel a little warmth inside his skull by the time that he finished the second karaf. It took a lot for him to feel the effects of alcohol, but no matter—he hadn't been planning to get drunk, anyway. And sushi wasn't really why he'd gone out of his way to eat in the sleepy suburbs of Chicago.

When he was finished eating, he looked up to see a new customer enter the establishment. He hadn't sat right by the door but close enough for him to get a good view.

The girl was short with dark hair, which was up in a ponytail. The jacket she had on was loose, unbuttoned, but her jeans hugged her legs in all the right places and were tight at her behind in particular. Klaus watched as she told the hostess she had a pickup order by the name of _Ollie_. She was told that it would be out in the minute, so Ollie took a seat on the bench against the wall. This put her directly across from Klaus.

He watched her without taking his eyes off of her while he waited for his check. She, on the other hand, didn't look to find him staring at her. Like many people nowadays, she busied herself with looking at her phone in her lap.

He took in her features—the subtle way she'd react to whatever she was looking at on her device. Her dark eyebrows arched up ever so slightly, and her full lips curved at their corners. He had no idea what she was looking at it. Maybe it was puppies, or shoes, or a post on Facebook. He himself didn't use social media.

His blue-green eyes trailed down her face, her neck, to her exposed bosom. It was the way she was sitting, slightly hunched forward, legs crossed and one of her elbows on a knee; the way her t-shirt sagged at the v-neck collar. She had a nice pair. He thought that she was good-looking. Her face was soft, round-shaped. Her gaze was doe-eyed, deep set. But it was her eyebrows that made her look far from innocent. She was supposed to be a wolf after all.

A man came out of the kitchen, the fabric partition flapping behind him, and he held out a plastic bag with three boxes in it. Ollie stood up and pocketed her phone, thanking him. It was as she was turning to head to the exit that another man stepped before her. She looked up as he held open the door.

"After you," Klaus said. It was hard to ignore his accent. He was long used to the doubletakes that woman gave him when they heard it. Ollie was no different.

She opened her mouth, hesitating very briefly, and then smiled coyly and walked ahead of him into the breezy spring air.

"I'll have to keep this little hole-in-the-wall in mind," he said behind her. "The food was surprisingly good."

She looked at him over her shoulder quickly. One eyebrow rose above the other one. "Yeah, the sushi is good here."

His own smile dimpled his face, and he watched her go toward the street, but not without one last look at him. Her expression was slightly bemused. She knew that he'd been checking her out. He didn't follow her, though. He didn't even consider it. He'd only come to watch from afar. Plus, he didn't want her getting suspicious. A proper meeting was in order for later.

###

As soon as he heard the word "walk" utter from either of the girls' mouths, Ramsey was rushing to the front door and prancing in circles, his curled tail wagging. It was his last walk of the night, and although usually it was conducted by one girl, Ollie was going to accompany her friend and roommate. Safety was number one priority. Being protective was one of Ollie's positive qualities. She might've been bossy due to working with children all the time, but she was certainly maternal.

"You're like my guard dog," Liza joked as she put on her coat.

Ollie rolled her eyes. "Until we can figure out what the fuck to do with the vampire." Liza took a small can of pepper spray just in case, pocketed it. Ollie leashed up Ramsey. "But I'll ask one of the guys I know. I'll ask him and see if he can come over, watch us."

"Like a guard dog?" Liza said with a smirk. Despite her inner trepidation, she opened the door. The small hallway was empty. The one with the keys, she ended up locking their apartment behind them.

"Yeah. Don't call any other wolf that," Ollie said with a scoff. "Especially not a guy."

Ramsey rushed down the stairs, pulling Ollie, who held on tight. Liza did feel a semblance of calm knowing that her dog would be the first one to sense trouble. At the same time, she really didn't want to think about any danger befalling the canine. Ollie reined him with surprising strength. To those who didn't know her, the way she looked was deceiving.

Ramsey had a long pee in the small front yard within the fence, as always. Half-jokingly Liza said, "Okay, we can go inside now."

Ollie answered with a scolding note. "We're going to walk him down the block at least. He needs a walk." She gave Liza a pointed, sidelong stare.

"I know, I know," Liza said quickly. They walked alongside each other onto the sidewalk. Liza took out a pack of cigarettes and started to light one. "I was going to get some vervain." Since the herb was known to repel vampires.

"Good idea," Ollie approved. She held out her hand for a cigarette of her own. She didn't smoke often but wanted one sometimes, especially when she was on edge. They periodically stopped while the Akita marked trees and plants.

Liza exhaled a white plume of smoke while looking at the street. A couple of cars passed. "I'll have to go into the suburbs for that."

Ollie held Liza's lighter back to her and inhaled out of her own cigarette. "To that one apothecary?"

Liza looked over her shoulder. No one was behind them. "No, I wanted to go to this Asian one I know of. I don't want to run into any Russian witches."

Ollie regarded her seriously. "I think you should just suck it up and get the damn vervain."

Liza narrowed her gaze. "You don't know what it's like."

Ollie spoke quietly but it was a harsh whisper. "You don't think I know what it's like? Really? I can't go to the burbs without seeing someone I know, asking me if I found a mate yet, or when I'm going to have babies, because most girls my age are already getting married and having a litter."

Liza huffed a chuckle and shook her head, watching Ramsey. "Oh yeah, you're such an old maid at 24. That's not what I'm talking about."

Ollie gave her a mock-offended look. "I'm just saying."

Liza shrugged her shoulders. "They're weird around people who aren't in a coven."

Ollie got defensive on her friend's behalf. "Who cares? Fuck them. You never wanted to be in anyone's coven anyway. Do you want me to come with you?"

Liza shook her head quickly. "They'll just think that you want something from them."

"So?" Ollie didn't give a rat's ass.

Liza glowered at the prospect but waved off her offer. "Just forget it. You being there will make it weirder. I'll go tomorrow."

Maybe most witches had vervain on hand at the back of the herb cabinet in their witchy laboratories, but that wasn't Liza. She didn't have a potions cabinet and neither did she have a place to mix stuff. She just used the kitchen when she needed to make Ollie's wolfsbane mix. As much as she really didn't want to go to the apothecary, which was actually disguised as one of those family-owned pharmacies, she had to. Precaution won over apprehension.

The girls walked to the end of the block and then turned back. Ramsey pooped thankfully, and Liza picked it up. There were absolutely no vampires sighted. Ramsey would've alerted them.

###

It was about half an hour later, when the girls were back inside, that someone rang the doorbell of the landlord downstairs.

The old man opened the door with a " _who on God's green earth would ring the doorbell at this hour?"_ type look. But before he could so much as utter, "Who are y-" Niklaus gave him a deadly smile.

"Doesn't matter who I am. What matters is that you are the lord of this domain and I need your permission to enter. While it is a cumbersome rule I must follow, I suppose I should be grateful that lease agreements are not considered a part of said rule. So I have to only get through you, and then I am free to confront those two," Klaus looked up at the ceiling, "lovely ladies that you have as tenants."

"My tenants? What are you doing—who are you?" Stan was sputtering. This stranger was speaking so, well, strangely and quickly, that the landlord had a hard time following. A woman peeked her head through the doorway behind her.

Klaus saw her—his wife, probably. "Well, hello, ma'am. I don't want to end up killing you as well." He frowned falsely. "It would be far too much of a mess."

The old couple gasped. Klaus rolled on the balls of his feet, almost giddy. The two were about to shout bloody murder and shut the door in the vampire's face when there was a hand on Klaus' shoulder. Elijah had appeared behind him. One look from the older Mikaelson and the couple silenced just as they were about to scream, for Elijah had stuck his foot past the doorway to stop the door from shutting.

"Now, my brother isn't going to harm a hair on your heads," Elijah assured, and as Klaus looked at him, Eljiah gave him a glare. "Forgive him. He beat me here. But I'm glad I got here in the nick of time." The couple just regarded the both of them with dumbfounded expressions.

"But I like a race," Klaus said to him. "And I like beating you."

Elijah leaned past him to get a better lock on the humans' gazes. "Please invite him in. I promise you two will be safe, as long as you stay inside your apartment and lock your door."

"Like a lock could keep me out," Klaus said.

Elijah ignored him and put a hand on his chest to keep him at bay. "Invite my brother, Niklaus, in please," he told the couple.

Stan blinked, looking from Elijah to his brother, who pursed his lips and scowled. Stan looked a bit scared, but the compulsion was keeping him from freaking out. "Please come in, Niklaus," he said robotically. As he backed away, so did his wife, and Elijah stepped through first.

"Thank you," he said, ever polite. Watching them, he made sure that they retreated back into their apartment and closed the door behind them.

Klaus was already going up the stairs. Fortunately, the sound of dog barking made him pause. "Did you know they had an…animal?" he asked.

Elijah looked indifferent. "I did know. Nothing we can do about it now."

"Canines happen to like me," Klaus said matter-of-factly. "Perhaps I should go ahead of you." Elijah was stepping past him.

"Let me do the introductions," he insisted.

Liza and Ollie already knew who was coming. It was the way Ramsey started to go nuts as soon as Klaus had arrived, wanting to be let inside the two-story graystone. They were expecting the vampire—Elijah—to show up at some point. They hadn't known when. It wasn't like they'd exchanged numbers. So presently, Ollie stood in front of Liza, looking through the peephole. Liza had leashed Ramsey up, so she wouldn't have to hold him by the collar.

The brothers didn't have to knock on the door. As soon as they reached the second-floor landing, Ollie was opening the door. The man behind Elijah shifted into view and recognition flashed across her face. A little bewildered but firm, Ollie said, "We were wondering when you were going to show up."

Liza looked back and forth between the two men. Elijah stopped an appropriate distance away. Klaus, not wanting to stand behind, shifted beside him. Before Liza could ask, Elijah was introducing his brother.

"I am so sorry that I've come announced again. This is my brother, Niklaus. I promise that we come in peace," the man said, again, to reiterate what he'd told them the last time.

The girls studied them. The brothers didn't look in any way similar. For one, Klaus was dressed casually. He wore a vintage Van Halen shirt beneath his leather jacket, unzipped, and stylishly ripped jeans and biker boots. Elijah was, of course, in a suit, as if he'd just gotten off work, albeit late.

"You sound like an alien, Elijah," Klaus commented, in that accent of his. Ollie narrowed her eyes at him. He simply smirked at her. Elijah ignored him.

"I saw you," the wolf girl cut in. Her voice hardened. "I saw you today."

Klaus didn't bother to lie in the slightest. "I think I'll be coming back to that sushi place. Elijah, you must try it. They've got something called the "Viking roll."" He elbowed his brother. They'd technically been vikings once. Elijah drew his brows together, had no idea what he was talking about and didn't like the sound of it.

Liza looked at Ollie, confused, too. "What?" the former said. Ramsey shifted, anxious, and growled. Feeling the tension from the girls didn't help the canine's own nerves.

"I was at work, picking up lunch. I saw him there—at that sushi place I took you to once. He was there!" Ollie insisted. There was a flash of fear in Liza's eyes at that. She took a step back. Elijah watched and started to get frustrated.

"Niklaus, where did you go?" he demanded.

The pairs remained on either side of the doorway to the apartment.

Klaus shrugged, not bothered by the tense atmosphere. "Oh, I just went on a little excursion…to the suburbs of this fine city. Needed to breathe better air…"

Elijah stared at him. "Why on earth?"

Klaus looked between him and the girls, speaking lightly. "Well, I thought I should know who we're dealing with. Come to find, it's only a pretty werewolf girl. Harmless, from the looks of it."

Ollie's jaw tightened, her expression darkened, and she gripped the edge of the door hard. "Most people make the mistake of thinking that," she said, an almost low, gravely quality entering her already husky voice.

Klaus pointedly looked Ollie up and down, taking her in. "Oh, I don't doubt it. But I'll have you know…" Ollie merely raised her chin as he checked her out, and her eyes turned yellow.

Elijah took his brother by the arm. "Niklaus," he said sharply.

Klaus shrugged him off and took a step toward the threshold. "I'm one of you." The younger brother inclined his chin, smiling wide, and his own gaze became the same as hers.

This took the girls by utter shock. Ollie should've known, but she hadn't. She and Liza gaped at him. Although the latter lived with a wolf, the suddenty of this stranger being one as well didn't make her relax. In fact, as Elijah looked at Liza in particular, he sensed that she felt terrified. She reflexively pulled Ramsey back, despite the dog pulling toward the two men, to no avail.

Klaus clasped his hands in front of him. "It's all a really complicated story. But we're half-brothers, Elijah and I." He briefly glanced at him. "May we come in? For a friendly chat. I wouldn't dream of hurting either of you, especially with that loyal friend you've got there."

Elijah regarded his brother, who was completely full of it, and scoffed. But Elijah didn't say anything. He just watched intently. Klaus was being his charming self. As long as he didn't do the opposite of what he was promising, perhaps this wouldn't go south. Klaus was looking at the dog, who was whining, and Liza had to use both hands now to pull Ramsey back. As Klaus approached, hand outstretched toward the Akita, restraining him was even harder.

Ollie took hold of the leash too, but Ramsey still got his way. He sniffed and snorted as Klaus neared him.

"What a handsome boy you are," he said and squatted. "May I come into your humble abode?" He asked the dog this.

Elijah's eyes widened. He'd never seen Klaus make nice with a dog, let alone to any animal really. His family never really cared for them. They never kept pets. They particularly didn't _drink_ from animals, either. So this was new. And bizarre is what it was. Elijah didn't know much about wolves and nuances of their own relationships with animals, particularly canines. Did Klaus know what he was doing? Or had he just gambled this?

"Ramsey, come back," Liza said through gritted teeth, not that it would stop the dog, who had stepped over the doorway. Ollie just watched, equally shocked.

"Ramses," she scolded.

Klaus glanced up at them. "Ramses, is it? Like the Pharaoh? What a regal name!" he approved.

After thoroughly sniffing his hand, Ramsey nosed his snout under his palm. Klaus inched his hand even closer to lay it on the animal's head. For a pat. He started to pet him.

"Good boy," Klaus said. "What a good boy you are, protecting these girls. What a faithful companion you are. Aren't you, Ramses?" Now the man used both hands—he started ruffling Ramsey's head and the dog was liking it.

Liza stared, aghast—how dare this man touch her dog. "Ramsey!" she said again.

Elijah stepped up beside him and Ramsey looked up at the vampire and snarled. Klaus burst into chuckles.

"Oh, he hates you, Elijah. Who would've known that my noble brother isn't liked by such a majestic beast." Klaus stood, grinning, but hunched over to give Ramsey a little more love.

"May we please come in?" Elijah cut in at last. This was ridiculous.

Ollie looked at each of them, then glanced back at Liza. "It's your call."

"What?" Liza said, alarmed.

"Look, I can kick them out. I'll call up my wolves right now and make sure they're gone, but they're here because of you, Liza, whether you want to believe it or not. We still don't know why."

Obviously, they had no idea who Klaus really was—a hybrid—let alone that they were more powerful than any regular sort of vampire, but this was left out, and Klaus didn't correct Ollie. He just clasped his hands in front of him again and smiled charmingly.

"I don't want to know why!" Liza answered Ollie. Her hands were white on the end of the leash. It didn't matter that Ramsey had taken an unnatural liking to this Klaus guy. Give Ramsey a steak and a thief could steal whatever he wanted.

"Yes you do. I, for one, do. I want to know why the fuck are you involved with vampires," Ollie said.

Liza was shaking her head, unable to tear her eyes off of the men. "I'm not fucking involved with vampires. I never was."

Instead of answering her, Ollie took Ramsey's leash out of her friend's hands and stepped aside. "Shoes off," she told the brothers sternly, her gaze flashing gold again. "And one wrong move. I swear."

Klaus walked through the doorway without delay. He raised a hand. "Scout's honor, love." As he walked further, he swooped to give Ramsey a pat on his back.

"Shoes, Niklaus. We must respect their wishes," Elijah said as he started to take off his own shiny leather shoes, using the toes of one foot to slip off the heel of the other, then vise versa.

"How very European," Klaus said with appreciation. He had to use his hands to take off his boots.

Elijah was the one who made sure both of their pairs of shoes were neatly to the side of the door, which Ollie closed behind them. She let Ramsey off the leash. The dog made a wide berth around Elijah. Klaus, completely at ease, stepped ahead and looked around the apartment.

"What a charming home you have. Original crown molding, hard wood floors. Very cozy," Klaus said. As Ramsey went up to him of his own volition, Klaus resumed petting him.

Liza kept the furthest away from them, arms crossed, and kept looking back at Ollie, who hung up the leash and stepped in direction of the living space. As Klaus unabashedly made his way through the large room, Elijah looked at Liza. Despite their conversation outside the day before, she seemed to be warier of him—no surprise. If Klaus wasn't with him, it might've been different. So Elijah gave the girl a semblance of a smile. She, on the other hand, looked away.

"Did you talk to that psychic kid again?" Ollie asked before awkward silence could make itself comfortable.

Klaus helped himself to looking over what the girls had as decoration on the shelves of their walls—DVD collection, pictures in frames, books, and whatnot. Ollie watched him closely. He didn't touch anything.

"I did not," Elijah answered, also watching his brother. "But I can call him again."

"Please don't," Liza said.

"Liza, maybe we should," Ollie reasoned.

Liza didn't bother hiding her exasperation. She regarded her friend across the combined living and dining space. "No. I don't want to call him. I don't need him to channel that spirit. I don't care who it claims to be. I don't want to hear anymore about this shit."

Ollie glared. "Stop being a child," she said.

Liza scoffed, offended, crossing her arms. "Olympia, don't be a bitch to me right now."

"Ladies," Elijah cut in quickly. "I don't have to call Benjamin. But the offer is there. There is no need to argue."

Klaus had turned around, amused. The anxiety between the girls was almost palpable. "Do you think perhaps it would be possible to have a cup of tea?" he asked all of a sudden. "Nothing a cuppa can't solve." He spread his arms in a shrug, ever so innocent. "I heard you work at a tea shop, Elizabeth. You must have quite a collection here."

"It's Liza," she corrected, and didn't answer his request.

Elijah glanced at him, incredulous. "It's all right. We don't need tea," he amended.

"No, it's fine." Ollie was already waving a hand and stepping toward the hallway. "I'm going to go put the water to boil."

Liza paled all of a sudden at the prospect of being alone with the two men. Klaus went to take a seat at the barely used dining table. Ramsey trotted up to him. He started petting him. As Ollie retreated to the kitchen at the end of the hall, Liza just stared at her dog and the attention that he was getting. It was bewildering. Ramsey was supposed to be a good judge of character and yet Liza got an uneasy feeling from Klaus. Elijah appeared far more…trustworthy, even though she couldn't say she trusted him at all.

Were looks deceiving? Or was Ramsey just appealing to the werewolf because he was a wolf? The same way Ollie had the effect of seeming more superior when she handled the dog—higher up on the pack order?

"So tell me a little about yourself, Liza," Klaus said, looking back at the girl, unoffended by her previous lack of response to his desire for tea. Her brown gaze snapped to him. "You're a witch, huh? And you seem to be a special one at that."

"I'm not special," she said flatly.

Klaus tilted his head, a furtive glint in his eye. "Well, you have to be if we're involved."

"What do you mean?" she asked, unsettled by that.

Elijah stepped toward the table but didn't sit down. "Klaus thinks very highly of himself. Remember what I said yesterday, Liza? We'll figure this out together."

"Yes, together," Klaus echoed cheerfully. He scratched Ramsey's neck, under the collar, and the Akita just melted into his hands.

Elijah studied the girl, who was watching the interaction with an acute sense of betrayal. He could tell that she didn't like what Klaus was doing. "Niklaus, perhaps you could…"

Klaus raised his eyebrows at him. "Perhaps I could what?"

Elijah exhaled a small breath, glancing back at Liza. "Why don't you…let the animal go?"

"What?" Klaus looked at them both, blinking, then down at Ramsey. "I'm not hurting him." The dog was loving his attention!

"Niklaus, just," Elijah's face strained, "just let him go."

Klaus rolled his eyes and looked at him blankly. Then with a glance at Liza, he forced a smile and took his hands back from the dog. Ramsey, however, was taken completely aback—why did this man stop with his ministrations? The dog put his paws on Klaus' lap and raised himself up.

"I'm sorry that I have such an effect on him," Klaus said, but he wasn't really sorry. "I love dogs, what can I say?"

Liza turned away to take a step and peek down the hall toward the kitchen. "It's fine," she said grudgingly. Elijah slowly shut his eyes and tilted his head down, shaking it. Klaus just grinned at him. Liza slipped out of sight.

In the kitchen, she approached Ollie, who was putting loose-leaf tea into a tea pot while the electric kettle boiled.

"Do you need help?" Liza asked her.

"No. Go back to the other room," Ollie said without looking back at her. "Stay with them."

Liza didn't say anything right away. So that's how it suddenly was between them? This tension? Was Ollie mad at her now? Did she not understand _why_ it wasn't so easy for her to just open up to a couple of strangers, let alone a vampire and his werewolf brother? About the subject of her magic, her dead grandmother—all which wasn't any of their business? Normally, she would question Ollie, ask her what her problem was, but now wasn't the time. Leaving Elijah and his brother probably wasn't the best of ideas, either, though.

So all Liza said, at last, was, "Okay," and went back down the hall.

Both brothers looked to her when she reappeared. Elijah was walking on eggshells. He looked like he felt bad. "I apologize for the inconveniences," he said, earnestly.

"It's fine," Liza said, perhaps a little more sharply than she intended. She went to sit on the chaise part of the L-shaped Ikea sectional—it was closest to the dining table—and crossed her arms.

Elijah remained standing. Klaus ruffled Ramsey's chest now, chuckling under his breath. The dog had his eyes closed and he looked like he was smiling from one end of his maw to the other. Liza tried not to look at them. Elijah looked back and forth between her and his brother. Awkward.

"How old is the lad?" Klaus was asking.

"What?" Liza asked.

"Ramses. How old is he?" Klaus clarified.

She found the question odd. Perhaps if Klaus was an animal-loving rando on the street that suddenly stopped to pet her dog, it would've been a legit question, but it caught her off guard. "Oh, uh," she had to wrack her brain, having forgotten her dog's age, which usually didn't happen, "He's, um, he's turning six in December."

"Oh, well, that would put you in…the mid-to-late thirties in human years, wouldn't it?" Klaus asked Ramsey, who looked up at him with squinting triangle eyes. "Handsome boy. At his prime, you are. Yes, you are."

Liza looked anywhere but at them. Elijah stepped toward her but kept enough of a distance so that she wouldn't feel her space was invaded.

"I'm sorry," he said, feeling the need to say so.

Liza looked up at him, studied his expression. He held her gaze. She didn't see an ounce of falseness within his. He really did appear sincere. She found herself believing in it before she could help herself. Looking away first, she shifted on the edge of the couch, drawing her attention down to her thighs, which she squeezed.

"It's fine. I mean, it's whatever. I know dogs like werewolves. I'm not surprised." She glanced at Klaus and Ramsey, who laid his head down on his lap. "He listens to Ollie better than me."

Elijah didn't know what to say to that. He simply frowned. Then they heard Ollie as she came from the kitchen.

"Liza was supposed to inherit her grandmother's power," she said in a tone that meant _let's get down to business._

"As in her coven's power?" Klaus said, perking up. Ramsey sat back on his haunches by his legs.

Liza bristled but remained where she was. "It wasn't a coven. It just consisted of my grandmother. But like I said, I haven't inherited anything."

"Well, maybe you're just not tapping into it," Ollie said, putting her hands on her hips. Liza just looked at her. Ollie threw up one hand, gesturing with it. "You never even tried. I never saw you actually _try_."

"That's not the way it works, Ollie," Liza said coldly.

"How does it work, pray tell?" Klaus inquired, leaning his elbows on the table. Even though he stopped with his ministrations, Ramsey kept his head on his lap.

Liza stood, antsy. She stepped away from them as she answered, held her hands up. "You _feel_ it. I don't know. It's hard to describe, but I never felt it. It's not here. It's not in me. Okay? If it was, I'd prove it to you."

"Then we have to find a way for you to get it," Klaus said. He gave Ollie a glance and a smile, but she just looked at him with those expressive dark eyebrows narrowed.

Liza spun around, crossing her arms again. "Why?" she asked, looking from him to Elijah. "What does it have to do with you and your family? Why am I supposed to use the power on you? Do you want wolfsbane?" This she directed to Klaus. "'Cause that's all I can give you."

"This is something that Benjamin wasn't able to elaborate on," Elijah said regretfully. Of course, he left out the mention of his family's "salvation." They had been who they were for a thousand years. Nothing had ever changed.

Klaus looked at the table and idly ran finger along the wood. "Well, then he's useless, isn't he? Say, Liza, why don't you contact your grandmother yourself? Ask her directly. Why go through some TV star brat who probably wants money out of us anyway?"

"No. I'm not going to contact anyone," Liza said flatly. "I don't do that. I don't contact the-the dead."

"Well, why not?" Klaus asked.

Liza's voice hardened. "Jesus. Because I don't."

"Liza, why can't you just try?" Ollie questioned. She was annoyed, like she was dealing with a stubborn child, who her roommate. Liza didn't like the tone she was using. "You're acting like one of the kids I work with."

It was also embarrassing—being told this. Liza's face turned red and she looked away, scoffing, trying to find words to say. She was hurt that Ollie would talk to her like this in front of two complete strangers.

"You got a fucking Ouija Board lying around?" Liza said, but without the fervor that she felt a moment ago.

Ollie cocked her head, as if to say, _really_? "Don't be a smart ass, Liza."

Elijah almost felt himself defensive on behalf of the witch, and he took half a step toward her. Her wolf friend really was using an unpleasant tone with her. "We will find another witch to help us," he said evenly. "Liza, how do you feel about that? If we find a witch—whom you approve of, of course. Unless you know one you trust."

Liza didn't look at him or the other two. She blinked a few times. Emotion made her eyes glaze over. "I don't know anyone," she said quietly. "I don't have witch friends."

Elijah frowned as he said, "All right."

Klaus studied him for a moment, curious, but then he looked at Ollie, who looked like she'd cooled off a bit. "How about that tea?"

"Sure." As she was turning around, he stood up.

"I will help you. Do you have Earl Gray, perchance?" he asked, following her.

"We have five different kinds," Elijah and Liza heard Ollie say to Klaus.

Left alone with Elijah, the witch walked over to her dog, who passed right by her. The girl watched him disappear toward the kitchen, her face blank. "Really?" she said to herself. Yanking back one of the other chairs around the table—it made a squeak against the floor—she fell into it.

After a moment, Elijah also sat down—in the chair beside the one that his brother had occupied. Liza avoided his gaze. She looked anywhere but at him. She fixed her attention across the room at a small crack in the wall that she could see. It was in between the carved frame of the fireplace and the painted plaster. Elijah didn't watch her. He too looked elsewhere.

She thought of the dream all of a sudden, having forgotten about it until now. She recognized Niklaus, the way he'd smirked at her before she had drowned him. It was the exact smirk that he'd worn while showering her dog with affection. This was most unsettling—apart from tenderness with which Elijah had gazed upon her after the sun had risen. At least there was none of that on his face now. Liza stole the quickest of looks at him. He noticed and she quickly looked back at the fireplace.

"I understand why you want no part of this. Trust me when I say that I do not want to burden you with this. The last thing Niklaus and I need is to involve a witch with our family matters. They're no one's business but ours," he told her, his tone of voice steady. He clasped his hands in front of him on the table and looked down while speaking. "When we find someone to help us contact your grandmother's spirit again," Liza visibly shuddered as he mentioned her, lowered her own eyes. He paused sympathetically. Then he went on, softer: "We will get to the bottom of this. I promise."

"If it isn't my grandmother, spirits can lie, you know, then you and your brother go away and never come near us again," Liza said coldly. She looked at him square in the eye, clenching her jaw. Elijah met her eyes solemnly. She tried to steel her emotions—all of them—so that the previous vulnerability was hidden.

He nodded his head. Her gaze flicked to his birthmark on his cheek, then down to his squared jaw, all within the span of a second. She remembered how close he'd been to her, in the dream, their faces inches away from each other, close enough for her to take in every detail of his features. She failed to stop the remembrance before it had returned. Damn it.

Elijah's expression shifted the slightest as he regarded her, and his eyebrows began to rise. He'd heard her heart skip a beat and quicken its rhythm. Liza blinked. She was made. He sensed something was off—even if he couldn't find an answer as to why. She cleared her throat and quickly looked away once more.

"I, um—"

"You have my word," he said. "We will never darken your doorstep again."

Liza examined her nails as if they were the most interesting thing right then and there. "Good," was her curt reply.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading, favoriting, following, commenting!_

 _A/N: I'm going to be slow on the next update because I want to write a good amount ahead. Stay tuned!_


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